Hogwarts: The Resurrection Stone
by Inkb100d
Summary: Thirteen years after, Harry invesitages a case of possession while a new generation of wizards begin their fifth year at Hogwarts. But both parties are secretly pawns in a plan for revenge, masterminded by an old and personal nemesis. OCs. Reviews please!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**The Night Before**

At precisely 9:47 PM on the thirty-first of August, I was lying awake in London with no hope whatsoever of falling asleep, Mr. Harry Potter was about to make his closing statements in an exhaustingly long debate in the Ministry of Magic, and Mr. Benedict Stubbs was being rushed through the corridors of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, strapped down to a stretcher and screaming incoherently. Now, I am not particularly important at this point, as I will in fact fall asleep eventually, and we shall return to the Ministry in time for Mr. Potter's finale, but Mr. Stubbs is of the most consequence at this point. I'm Sebastian Crane by the way, and it's very nice to meet you.

His stretcher (which was crawling with frantically moving equipment doing their best to keep him alive) was accompanied by three healers, with a fourth following behind, impeded by a noticeable limp. Mr. Stubbs, who appeared unnaturally ancient, was drenched in sweat. His bloodshot eyes darted about faster than seemed possible, and an endless stream of unrecognizable words blasted out of his mouth continuously.

"Blood pressure is climbing!" cried one of the healers, a young woman with flowing blond hair. Without breaking his stride, the limping healer pointed his wand at his own throat.

"_Sonorus_," he muttered. A second later, his magically magnified voice echoed through the hallway. "MAKE WAY! MAKE WAY! WE NEED AN ELEVATOR, STAT!" Healers and visitors alike dove for cover as the stretcher flew past. The attending healers barely managed to steer their patient, still howling like a demon, into an elevator; the blond healer swiftly pushed the button for the fourth floor once they were inside.

The stretcher shot forward again as soon as the doors opened, and the three healers broke into a run to match, with the fourth continuing to limp along behind them. He pointed his wand at the racing stretcher.

"OPERATING ROOM TWO!" he instructed. The stretcher rounded a corner, nearly flipping over as it did so, and began to wheel itself towards the operating room. Gesturing with his wand, one of the healers accompanying the stretcher opened the door, and once all four healers were insider, closed it again with a loud BANG!

"WHAT'S HIS SITUATION?" the limping healer asked.

"Take the bloody charm off!" said one of the healers. The limping healer muttered the counter-charm as quietly as possible under his circumstances. "I've never seen anything like this," the other healer continued. "Look, he's bleeding out of his ears now!"

Mr. Stubbs thrashed wildly, desperately trying to break his bonds. Suddenly, his incoherent babbling coalesced into a single intelligible statement.

"I'm going to kill every last one of you!" he roared, causing the healers (and even some of the instruments) to pause in surprise. These were the last words Mr. Stubbs could choke out, as his speech gave way to a fit of coughing. Flecks of blood flew from his lips. The limping healer began casting charms on Mr. Stubbs' lungs while a levitating cloth wiped the blood from his mouth, but it was to no avail. Eventually, Mr. Stubbs' thrashing became less and less violent, and he soon ceased to move at all. The healers watched in frustration as a thin stream of what appeared to be smoke escaped his mouth as he drew his last shuddering breath. By 10:00 PM, Mr. Stubbs was dead.

The limping healer accompanied the body to the morgue, eager to see what an autopsy would reveal. He'd seen countless curses and examples of spell damage in his career, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something strange about this particular case.

"Let's find out who this bloke was," he muttered. "_Kadaver Idente Revellio_!" A set of ghostly characters appeared above the cadaver's head: his name, height, weight, date of birth... The limping healer stopped suddenly, and read the date of birth again. And again. "Impossible," he hissed. Leaving the corpse on the table, he rushed to the hospital's extensive record room. Though the room appeared to be a large on anyways, it was actually even larger than it looked. Every wall up to the ceiling was covered with massive filing cabinets containing the records of every witch or wizard who had ever passed through the hospital...including those who had been born there. It was just a hunch, the healer knew, but it was worth checking out. "_Accio_ file, Stubbs, Benedict!" The drawer of a nearby filing cabinet opened, and a thin manila folder flew out and floated towards him. He grabbed it out of the air, and flipped through the folder until he found a picture. The blood drained from his face.

A moment later, he was leaning on the front desk, eyes still wide with shock.

"Call the Auror Office," he told the bored-looking witch before him. "I need to speak to Harry Potter right away!"

At 10:00 PM on the thirty-first of August, Mr. Harry Potter was beginning his closing statements, and as promised, we have arrived just in time for them. He stood before the entire Wizengamot, and yet the mass of robed wizards that surrounded him did not seem to intimidate him, nor did it diminish his formidable presence. Despite his slight body he was still Harry Potter after all. Harry Potter, the youngest Head of the Auror Office in wizarding history, and the hero who had not only defeated Lord Voldemort, but who had also overcome death itself on at least two occasions. His voice required no amplification; the room had fallen silent, and all eyes and ears were fixated on him.

"You've all heard my points and arguments," he began. "They are, of course, simply words, and they carry little meaning. But you have a far more valuable resource on which to base your decision. You have experience." He paused for a moment, allowing the statement to briefly hover over the Wizengamot before beginning again. "You have seen the damage that the Dark Arts are capable of causing if left unchecked. You know that countless lives have been lost in the two wars against Lord Voldemort." He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the minority of wizards who still winced at the mention of the former Dark Lord's name. "And you have witnessed, some of you firsthand, the danger that the Dark Arts can pose to this Ministry if we allow it inside.

I know that we will never be able to fully cleanse our world of darkness. That is just wishful thinking. But we can limit its influence. We can control it. We _must_ control it. And above all, we must not allow ourselves to either forget the danger that darkness poses, or believe ourselves to be above it.

For these reasons, the Ministry must not continue to employ Dementors as prison guards. Not only are they unquestionably Dark creatures, but they are also perhaps the last remaining species to actually prey on human beings. And they do not distinguish between the guilty and the innocent. I have been attacked on numerous occasions, as have many others. This was most evident during the war thirteen years ago, in which the Dementors turned against us, and sided with Lord...with the Death Eaters. In my opinion, that last fact alone should be sufficient reason for us to discontinue their use as guards for Azkaban. We witnessed them stand by and allow some of the most dangerous and violent criminals in the Wizarding world to escape! And beyond that, subjecting those convicted of even the most heinous of crimes to prolonged exposure to the Dementors is a complete travesty of justice! It is the cruellest form of torture that exists, crueller even than the Cruciatus Curse, for the Cruciatus Curse can be endured only for minutes, perhaps hours. The kind of torture endured by a prisoner of Azkaban lasts for years without reprieve.

Thirteen years ago, a great evil was banished from our world. Because of that, we were given an opportunity to ensure that the mistakes of the past are never repeated. We live in a new and privileged age, and we owe it to our fellow wizards to ensure that the Wizarding world is the kind of world that they can be proud to live in. And not only to ourselves; we owe this to our children too. I owe it to my children to stand before you tonight and ask you to consider the mistakes of the past." He bit his lip, dreading the inadequacy of his conclusion. "And...and we owe it to the ones we left behind to make sure that their sacrifices were not in vain." With this, he returned to his seat. He bit his lip, knowing there was so much more he should have said.

A moment passed in silence, and then another. Then, a man with silvery-grey hair and permanently laughing eyes stood up and began to applaud. The rest of the room soon chimed in, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, although there seemed to be a distinct reluctance in his manner. Once the wizards present had applauded to their own satisfaction, they began to retake their seats in small clumps, some seeming eager to be the last one standing for _the_ Harry Potter. But eventually, only the sliver-haired wizard remained standing. He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent once again as he began to speak.

"Well done Mr. Potter. That was very well said." Harry felt physically sickened by the patronizing tone in his honey-sweet voice. He had respected this man, Arcturus Crawley...the wizard's reputation as a speaker had preceded him...but throughout the entire debate, Crawley's strategy had invariably been to treat Harry as though he were an inexperienced young newcomer. The experience had been galling beyond belief.

"And he is right, of course," Crawley continued, now addressing the Wizengamot. "We owe it to our fellow wizards to ensure that our world is the kind of world they can be proud to live in. We owe our children a safe and secure society in which to grow up. And, as Mr. Potter so strongly emphasized, we owe it to all the dear friends and family we lost in the war to ensure that their noble sacrifices were not in vain." It was only for a fleeting second, but Harry was certain he saw a mocking smile flash across Crawley's face. "And he is also right to say that, while the darkness can never completely be banished from this world, it can be checked. The darkness in this world is real, make no mistake. But the greatest threat to our world comes not from Dementors. No my friends, the greatest threat to our world comes from the darkest elements of our own race. The greatest threat to our world is the Dark wizards and witches among us.

Yes, we have seen the danger that the Dark Arts pose to this Ministry. I will not mince words: we were defeated, subjugated, taken in. But I remind you, my friends, that this was the result of human action! The war thirteen years ago was not fought against Dementors! No contingent of Grindylows stormed the Ministry! Our loved ones did not give their lives to prevent our subjugation by giants! The danger lies, as it always has, with the human agents of evil." Throughout this entire performance, Crawley maintained an almost jovial attitude. The dancing lights never once went out of his eyes.

"Now, Mr. Potter has argued that subjecting convicted prisoners to the effects of the Dementors is unethical, barbaric even! But do I really need to remind you of the crimes these prisoners are guilty of? We are not talking about wizards who left their broomsticks in Minster Shacklebolt's private parking space!" A polite ripple of laughter spread through the room. "The criminals in question are murderers and psychopaths. Indeed, some are even former Death Eaters. Are these really the sort of people whose welfare should concern us? I wonder if Mr. Potter would display such a bleeding heart for, say, Fenrir Greyback, or Bellatrix Lestrange, especially considering the...personal grievances that he would have against the latter."

That was it. That was more than Harry was going to take. Harry shot up, and began to speak before the words were even fully formed in his mind, not noticing that Crawley had paused as if to allow his interruption.

"You've got some nerve!" Harry spat furiously. "Sirius Black was condemned to your idea of justice! He would've suffered a far worse fate at your hands than the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange!"

"Mr. Potter!" Shacklebolt's voice rang out. "It is not your turn to speak."

"Minister Shacklebolt!" Harry protested. Kinglsey had been Sirius' friend! He couldn't possibly allow his memory to be used in this way! "Surely this is out of line!"

"Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt repeated, slowly and sternly, yet strained as if holding back screams. "It is not your turn to speak."

By 10:30 PM, the debate was over, and despite the fact that the Wizengamot has yet to come to a formal decision, Harry knew he had lost.

"I shouldn't have let him get to me," he told Ron Weasley angrily. The two Aurors walked briskly through the winding corridors of the Ministry, making their way to the Atrium.

"Hey, don't put this on yourself. That stuck-up bastard's got no business talking about Sirius that way! The man died fighting against everything Crawley stands for!"

"I know," Harry said darkly, "but I doubt he'd be very pleased with me right now. God...I'm not cut out for this."

"That doesn't sound like the Harry Potter I know," Ron pointed out.

"Yeah, well the Harry Potter I know wouldn't get pushed around so easily," Harry replied, his mood unchanged. "Anyways, what's the deal with this St. Mungo's thing?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

"A paper airplane came in just as you were wrapping up," Ron said, obliging him. "The healer who sent it requested you personally."

"Strange," Harry mused. Soon after he had assumed office, he had received at least nine personal requests a week, mainly from young witches eager to see _the_ Harry Potter rescue their cats from trees and the like, but such requests had all but faded into nonexistence by now.

The duo soon reached the Atrium, quickly took the Floo route to the surface, and walked a few blocks away from the Ministry entrance. Thankfully, the night was warm and without rain.

"Any Muggles around?" Harry asked his friend.

"Nah, just you and me mate," Ron replied. Seizing the opportunity, the two friends quickly Apparated to St. Mungo's. Their arrival had been delayed enough already, and both were eager to return to their true element.

Upon their arrival, they were quickly shepherded away by the limping healer.

"I've been a healer for thirty years, and I've never seen anything like it," he told the two Aurors as he led them to the morgue. "I mean, I've seen curses do some pretty horrific things to the body, but this is something else." Once inside, the healer closed the door, and levitated Mr. Stubbs' body onto the table. "How old would you say this man was at the time of death?"

"Er...Ninety-something?" Ron guessed.

"Twenty-six," the healer corrected him.

"Twenty-six! Bloody hell..."

"What is this then?" Harry questioned. "Some kind of ageing charm gone wrong?"

"Possible, but unlikely under the circumstances," the healer told him. "At a first glance, it would seem that way; even the autopsy seemed to confirm it. But...when we brought him in, he was screaming incoherently. However, right before he died, he did manage to say one thing."

"And that was...?" Ron prompted him.

"I'm going to kill every last one of you," the healer told him dryly.

"Charming bloke, wasn't he?" While Ron bantered with the healer, Harry was examining the corpse, paying special attention to Mr. Stubbs' eyes.

"_Lumos_," he muttered, shining the light that emanated from his wand into the dead man's eyes. "Interesting..." he mused.

"And there's something else that might interest you Mr. Potter," the healer said. "Right as he died, I saw something that looked like a bit of smoke coming out of his mouth." Harry spun around instantly, twitching as if electrically shocked.

"Are you absolutely sure?" he demanded. "Are you completely sure that's what you saw?"

"I wouldn't have asked for you personally if I hadn't. I figured you'd be the one to ask about such things."

"I've never heard of a curse with that side-effect," Ron told Harry.

"That's because this man hasn't been cursed," Harry said darkly. His heart was pounding beyond his control, and he felt a sickening feeling settle in his stomach. "He's been possessed."

"Possessed?" Ron said, confused. "You mean like..."

"Yeah," Harry said, and for the first time in his life, the name that came into his mind actually frightened him. "Like Voldemort used to do."

By now, it was after 11:00 PM on the thirty-first of August, and I was blissfully unaware of the events that had just transpired. I couldn't possibly know of the great and terrifying evil that had been unearthed. I couldn't know about the conspiracy whose tendrils had reached into my life long before I was born. And I definitely couldn't know that the next ten months would be the strangest and most eventful time of my life. All that I knew as I finally fell asleep was that come tomorrow, the first of September, my fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Dramatis Personae**

The first of September, 10:45 AM. This was the fifth time that I'd stood here on Platform 9 ¾, waiting for the Hogwarts Express' arrival, and somehow it still felt every bit as exciting as the first time had. I was surrounded on all sides by swarming young witches and wizards, as well as their ever-fussing parents, just as I had been the first time. The clatter of the trolleys, the screeching of jostled owls, the indecipherable roar of the multitude of conversations around me...everything was exactly as I remembered it.

"It's just like you remember it, isn't it?" asked a voice beside me. I turned and saw the pale face and green eyes of Adam Thorne, an old acquaintance, and the very model of a modern Slytherin. "You stay away from our world for far too long," he told me, smiling.

Perhaps a small digression is in order here. As mentioned, my name is Sebastian Crane. My first name was given to me by my mother, a witch, and my last name comes from my father, a Muggle. Soon after I was born, my mother walked out on us and disappeared. I never met her, and in fact I do not even recall what she looked like. Because of this, I knew nothing of the Wizarding world until my acceptance letter from Hogwarts arrived. Dad nearly threw it out before he realized who it was from. If you think you've had "the talk," you haven't seen anything until you've seen your father trying to explain to you that you're a wizard. At first, I thought the whole thing was a really lame joke, but I'd never seen my father look more serious in my life. I was really furious with him for a while after that. I mean, how the hell could he have gone all these years without telling me? What right did he have to lie to me like that? It was a while before I came to understand his point of view, but even so, my relationship with my father had been...less than ideal ever since.

"I don't exactly have a choice, you know," I reminded Adam. He was endlessly suggesting that I seek out my mother and go live with her. What he failed to understand was that, after years of searching by actual Magical Law-Enforcement people, no trace of my mother had ever been found. I'd pretty much given up any hope of ever properly meeting her, so going to live with her was obviously out of the question.

"If you say so," he conceded with a sigh. "How was your summer? Thoroughly un-magical, I presume."

"It was all right," I said. He was right, of course. But how magical could he expect my life to be when I'd spent the last two months completely isolated from the Wizarding world? Oh...I guess that was his point.

Okay, if I'm giving the impression that I spent my entire summer imprisoned in my room, then I'm being a tad misleading. I mean, just last week I'd gone on my obligatory scavenger hunt through Diagon Alley for school supplies with the two guys who were my best friends in the entire Wizarding world...both of whom seemed to be late.

"I see," Adam said, apparently relishing my discomfort. He did that a lot, relishing in other people's discomfort. "I don't suppose you've given any more thought to my offer."

"I'm not really a 'club' kind of person," I reminded him.

"The Slug Club isn't the Gobstones Club," he said patronizingly. "The connections you make in school go a long way towards getting what you want in life. Seb, it's fifth year now! You've got to start making some _real_ friends, friends who'll be there for you once you get out into the world."

"Friends like you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. There was a pause.

"Possibly," he said with an almost vampiric smile. The very model of a Slytherin indeed, right down to the fine clothes and the stylish short haircut. But then, didn't my own somewhat bookish appearance suggest a Ravenclaw? Perhaps we all end up embracing the stereotypes that others put on us. Or perhaps it's just because I wear glasses and a lot of blue.

"I still don't understand why you're so eager to get _me_ in your club," I said. "I'm a Ravenclaw. Wouldn't you prefer to 'make connections' with people in your own House?"

"Oh come on Seb, you can drop the modesty. You know as well as I do that you're one of the most talented wizards in our year."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I told him, rolling my eyes as dramatically as I could. And it _was_ simple flattery. I was talented, there was no denying that, but I was still far cry from the most talented wizard in our entire year.

"Fine then," he said smirking. "Tell me who my time would be better spent on."

"Gordon Hall for one," I said, knowing that suggesting Adam's mortal enemy would annoy him to no end. "He's just as talented as I am, if not better. And besides, wouldn't you rather bag the rebel Slytherin than the run-of-the-mill Ravenclaw?" In case this statement is confusing, allow me to clarify: Gordon Hall, the wizard I counted as my closest friend, was one of the only Muggle-Born Slytherins in Wizarding history, a fact that was not well known outside of the Slytherin common room. I checked my watch, now slightly anxious. My friend the rebel Slytherin was going to be quite unfashionably late if he didn't arrive soon.

"Gordon Hall...is not my type," Adam said, chewing on each word before he let it out.

"Ah, and there's that prejudice you keep insisting you don't have," I said. Now it was my turn to smirk.

"I'm not prejudiced!" he protested, declaring himself innocent for the umpteenth time. "I just don't feel that Hall is really Slug Club material. And speaking of which," he said, checking his own watch, "where is he?"

As if to answer him, the masses of people began to part like the Red Sea all along the platform. I strained to see what was coming, mainly because it seemed to be coming in my direction...although I had a fairly good idea what it was going to be. A couple of girls shrieked as they were nearly run over, and as the swiftly-moving figure approached, I took an involuntary step back. For a moment, I was unsure that he'd be able to stop in time, and indeed his bag nearly caught Adam's head as the skateboard skidded to a stop...but then, I'm fairly certain that was intentional. After two years of stalling, Gordon Hall had finally skateboarded onto Platform 9 ¾.

"Took you long enough," was the only comment I cared to make. The applause that began to ring out on the platform was probably sufficient approval. "You might actually have friends after this."

"Shut up," he said offhandedly, jumping down off the skateboard and picking it up under his left arm. His right arm held a bag, which always seemed too small to carry his required amount of books and clothes, although perhaps some were carried in his backpack, which seemed too overstuffed to be comfortable. He brushed his long and tangled hair out of his eyes with a certain degree of difficulty (his only available hand had a skateboard under the arm attached to it), and seemed to notice Adam's presence for the first time. "Oh. Hello Thorne," he said curtly.

"Good morning Hall," Adam replied, equally curt. The two stared one another down for a moment, as was usual for them. "Will we be seeing you on the Quidditch pitch this year?"

"You know it," he replied. "Slytherin needs someone who can actually play." The two stared one another down for another moment. Then, as gracefully as he could, Adam decided to make his exit.

"Well, I'll see you both on the train then," he said smiling, and departed with his undoubtedly overpriced black leather bag in hand.

"So...how've you been?" I asked Gordon.

"Same as always," he said. Then, his eyes lit up. "I've got to show you something."

"What is it?"

"Not here," he said, eyes darting about. "On the train. I don't want the others to see."

"The others?" I asked sceptically.

"You'll see," he said with an annoying smirk. He started to look around, eyes scanning the crowd, although there were so many people, the chances of him actually seeing anything were pretty low. "Hey, where's Phil? He's gonna be late again." Phillip Keates, who was quite Indian despite his name, was my other closest friend...and indeed, he was nowhere to be seen.

"He'll show up," I said with certainty, although in reality I was slightly worried. But then, when wasn't I? "So...shall we?"

"Yeah, let's go," he said. Time was running short, and everyone was beginning to rush towards the train. The result was a mob scene, just as there was every year. The parents milling about the train certainly weren't any help either, but we eventually managed to get onboard, although Gordon's backpack sent several hapless first-years ducking for cover.

We left the mob scene of the platform behind, only to enter the sardine can of the cars.  
"MOVE!" cried a shrill voice as a small figure shoved past me. I rolled my eyes as I saw her. Jasmine. Despite my fellow fifth-year's slight stature, or perhaps because of it, she was a formidable Seeker...and formidably annoying when you were standing in her way.

Gordon grabbed my arm and started dragging me through the car, my protests swallowed by the noise of the people around us. As we attempted to shove our way through the car, Gordon somehow lost his grip on me, leaving me to follow behind him as quickly as I could. As I made my way further back, I became momentarily distracted by my own stream of consciousness (this was not unusual for me), and due to my lack of attention, collided with newly-appointed Ravenclaw prefect Amanda Watson. How did I know she was a newly-appointed prefect? Partially because anyone who knew her had been certain that she would be made a prefect in fifth-year, and partially because of the shiny silver and blue badge pinned to her shirt.

"You just couldn't wait to put that on, could you?" I said mockingly once we had both apologised for the collision. "We're not even at school yet." I smiled so she would know that my criticisms were in jest.

"Hello to you too," she said, rolling her eyes, but smiling all the same. "Hey, are you the other new Ravenclaw prefect?"

"Nah, I wish," I said. And I had been a little disappointed, but being a prefect was probably more trouble than it was worth. Way too many responsibilities. Such things were better left to workaholics like Amanda.

"That's too bad," she said, and she did look a little disappointed. "I thought you'd have been the perfect choice."

"They were probably scared," I joked. "If we were prefects, we'd be running the school by the end of the week!" I was rewarded with a chuckle, but it occurred to me that the rush for compartments was not yet over, and we were blocking the corridor. And right as this thought occurred to me, Gordon reappeared from behind me, staring disapprovingly at Amanda's badge.

"Nice," he commented sarcastically. Amanda stared back with a mildly offended look...until Gordon realized where he'd been looking. "The _badge_," he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Nice. Way to flaunt your superiority complex."

"I don't have a superiority complex," she said, eyes narrowing.

"Please," he said condescendingly. "Being a prefect means nothing until we get to school. The only reason for you to be wearing that thing is that everyone will see it. It's just something else for you to show off."

"I am _not_ showing off," she said sharply. "I'm..." She hesitated, momentarily uncertain, before her eyes brightened again. "Oh, I get it! You _weren't_ chosen to be a prefect, were you?"

"What's that got to do with anything? Don't change the subject!" Gordon protested. Both parties seemed to have forgotten that I was there...and that we were still partially blocking the corridor. Thankfully, we were all spared by the timely arrival of Kenneth Davies, mortal enemy to both Gordon and Amanda. The reason? Kenneth Davies was the captain and shining star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team (with the eternally windswept hair to prove it). Amanda captained our own team, and Gordon played for Slytherin. Need I say any more?

"Hey, we're supposed to be in the front car with the other prefects," he told her. "The Head Boy and Girl want to talk to us."

"You're the new Gryffindor prefect?" Gordon asked disbelievingly.

"Don't act so surprised Hall," he replied, smirking. "Come on," he said to Amanda, "you don't want to be late." With that, he pushed past us and walked away.

"What idiot made _him_ prefect?" Gordon and Amanda muttered in almost perfect unison. Although, to be honest, Kenneth really was the perfect choice, mainly because of the respect he commanded.

"Well, I'd better get going," Amanda told me. "I'll see you later." Her only goodbye to Gordon was a sideways glare as she turned.

"Yeah, see you," I called after her. As Gordon and I walked away to find an empty compartment, I noticed that his ever-annoying smirk had replaced his ever-annoying scowl. "You enjoy that, don't you?"

"Enjoy what? I'm _right_, aren't I?

"Yes she's showing off," I agreed, "and yes you're jealous."

"I am not!" he insisted. "Only prats become prefects."

"Keep telling yourself that," I taunted. The scowl was back.

It quickly became apparent to us that there were no empty compartments left. Just as we'd given up hope on the car we were in, we came across the next best thing to an empty compartment: a compartment with two empty seats. We made it inside just as the train jerked forward and slowly began to move out of the station.

"Mind if we sit here?" I asked the compartment's occupants, although the answer was something of a given, considering that one of the occupants was my old friend Olivia Chamberlain, a soft-spoken blond Hufflepuff. Sitting across from her was a girl who looked our age. She had long brown hair that was brushed off her face, and her skin was paler than Adam Thorne's. When she looked up at us, she regarded us with piercing blue eyes.

"If we do mind, would you leave?" she said with a very Gordon-like smirk. That one sentence was enough for me to predict that, no matter how interested she was in a given subject, she would always sound vaguely bored. The really odd thing was that, despite the fact that I'd been at Hogwarts for four years now, I had never seen this girl before in my life.

"Sit down guys," Olivia said with a smile. We stowed away our bags (and Gordon's skateboard) and obliged her. "How's it going? How've you been?"

"Pretty good," Gordon said, putting his feet up...on my knees. I shot him a look, and he reluctantly put his feet on the floor.

"How...detailed," Olivia commented wryly. "Oh, this is Carmilla," she said, indicating the girl across from her. "She's transferring to Hogwarts from Durmstrang." Well, that would explain why I'd never seen her before.

"Nice to meet you Carmilla," I said to the new girl. "I'm Sebastian."

"Gordon," said my friend, presumably as an introduction. Our car was moving out of the station, and Olivia stood up and waved out the window at her parents. Gordon and I stayed seated, as our Muggle parents couldn't actually get onto the platform, and I noticed that Carmilla stayed seated as well. Was she a Muggle-born? An orphan perhaps?

"So how was your summer?" Olivia asked once she'd sat back down.

"Thoroughly un-magical," I told her. "But despite the beliefs of Adam Thorne, that does not equal boring. Er...let's see...me and my dad went to France for a couple weeks."

"Sounds fun," Olivia commented.

"Not really," I corrected her, smiling slightly. "I mean, I liked all the looking around and stuff, but Dad wanted to take a million pictures of bloody everything, so..."

"I know how that is," Olivia laughed.

"Oh, and what am I? Chopped liver?" Gordon muttered. Olivia looked at him quizzically.

"Gordon and I went to a Fightstar concert in August," I said, kicking Gordon's shin.

"Please," Gordon drawled. "Gordon and I went to an _epic_ Fightstar concert."

"Hey! I know you!" Carmilla suddenly said, pointing at Gordon. "You're that guy who skateboarded onto the platform!" Gordon smiled broadly, relishing the recognition.

"Oh, you finally did that?" Olivia asked him excitedly. Gordon's expression became somewhat crestfallen.

"You...you didn't see that?"

"No, actually," she said, looking disappointed. "Darn..."

"Amanda didn't say anything about it either," I pointed out. Now Gordon looked completely crestfallen. "Wow...so instead of option one, which was being revered as a legend, or option two, which was falling on your ass and being a laughingstock, we have determined that a wizard who skateboards onto Platform 9 ¾ shall get...nothing." Gordon groaned dramatically.

"There is something wrong with a world in which I can skateboard through a train station in which witches and wizards are waiting for a steam engine to take them to a school for magic that is actually a giant castle full of ghosts, and _no one cares_." He paused, adopting a thoughtful pose. "I blame the media. Too much desensitization these days." Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Oh! God, I just remembered!" He immediately jumped up, and ran to his bag. When he returned, he was holding a bright pink purse. In fact, rather than pink, I believe it was more of a fuchsia...but I digress. I regarded the item sceptically. Catching my look, Gordon rolled his eyes.

"It's my sister's. She put an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. I'd never get anywhere near the train with this thing." He returned to his seat, opened the bag, and stuck his arm into it until it disappeared up to his elbow. The oddness of watching this is hard to explain. With his other hand, he pulled the bag slowly in the other direction, and a long shaft of polished wood began to emerge. Eventually, he produced a clearly brand-new broomstick. My jaw dropped all the way to the floor.

"Is that...?"

"It is indeed," he said, almost giggling with glee. "The Firebolt Seven. Fastest and most manoeuvrable broom in the world."

"And probably the most expensive," Olivia pointed out. "How did you ever afford this?"

"Before I turned eleven, my parents set up a trust fund for my university education," Gordon told us. "Obviously I'm not going to need it anymore, so my parents decided that it may as well go towards a good cause...in this case, the Slytherin Quidditch team. We managed to change the money to Galleons, but I don't recommend it; it took bloody forever, and I don't think the goblins like dealing with Muggle money very much."

"Wow...and I hear that Thorne's got his hands on a Nimbus Twenty-twelve too," Olivia said, admiring the gorgeous broom. "Slytherin's got a good shot at the Quidditch Cup this year." It was at this point that I remembered that I was a Ravenclaw, and therefore should not be too happy about this news. And speaking of Ravenclaws...

"Have you seen Phil anywhere?" I asked Olivia. "I didn't see him on the platform."

"He's probably in the front car with the other prefects," Carmilla said. I had almost forgotten she was there. All three of us turned to her with quizzical expressions.

"Phil's a prefect?" Gordon said, confused. "He never mentioned that."

"Wait," I said, "how do you know that? How did you even know who we were talking about?"

"I met him earlier," she said. "He offered to show me around the school if I wanted." Coming from Phil, this could either have been an attempt at wooing this girl or a perfectly honest effort to fulfil his responsibilities. You never really knew with him. I started cleaning my glasses absent-mindedly, but only moments later I realized the implications of what she had said. By the looks on Gordon and Olivia's faces, they'd just realized it too.

"But...but that means..." I began, cold terror flooding my body. "That means that Phillip Keates...and Amanda Watson...are _both _Ravenclaw prefects!"

"_Together_!" Gordon chimed in with fear in his eyes.

"God help us all," Olivia intoned. While the enmity that existed between Gordon and Amanda, for example, was largely due to a Quidditch rivalry, the deep and powerful hatred that Phillip and Amanda had for each other was beyond human comprehension. As to what half-witted teacher had decided to appoint them both Ravenclaw prefects...requiring them not only to be in the same room as one another for more than five minutes, but to actually _work together_...I could only speculate. Strangely enough, Carmilla did not show any confusion as a result of our sudden revelation. I wasn't even sure that she was paying attention.

"This is going to be an interesting year," I said, more to myself than to anyone else. Suddenly, the door to our compartment slid open, and a pixie-like blond girl poked her head in. Polina Myrox, yet another Ravenclaw. Behind her in the corridor, her long-time Gryffindor boyfriend (they had been an item long before Gryffindor boyfriends became fashionable again) Brock Smith was pushing the food trolley. He waved to us with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Hey guys!" Polina said beaming. "The trolley lady sprained her ankle in the second car, so we're taking the food around for her. Chocolate frogs anyone?"

Yes, this was going to be an interesting year indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**The Sorting and the Shopkeeper**

Diagon Alley, named by someone with a fairly clever sense of humour, was an altogether charming little street, lined with attractive-looking shops and generally full of kind and charming people. Knockturn Alley, which was probably named by the same person, was quite the opposite. It seemed dark and oppressive even in the middle of the day, and was lined with rather _un_attractive looking shops...and the people who frequented it were anything but kind and charming. We're skipping back a few hours in time, by the way, because while I had spent the majority of my day on the train, our Auror friends had been considerably more productive. Accompanied by the Mad-Eyes, they had gone to Knockturn Alley just before lunch in order to investigate a particularly shady store known as Borgin and Burke's.

Perhaps some explanation is in order here, as I doubt any Muggle readers will have been reading the _Daily Prophet_ recently. I should probably begin, for sake of those who have been living as hermits in the Gobi Desert for the past thirteen years, by explaining the concept of a Horcrux. Simply put, a Horcrux is an object within which a Dark witch or wizard has hidden a fragment of their soul. As long as the Horcrux continues to exists, the Dark witch or wizard who created it is granted immortality, and will continue to be immortal until the Horcrux is destroyed...which is no easy task.

This much became common knowledge after the downfall of Lord Voldemort, who had audaciously aimed to create six Horcruxes, the only time in known history that any wizard had attempted to create more than one. It should be noted that the precise mechanics of how split-soul immortality functions is not generally known, but it can be surmised that, lacking a body, a soul will exist in a non-corporeal state with the ability to take host bodies, although such possession causes irreparable damage to the body in question. Harry Potter, who had rather unique experience with Horcruxes and possession, had spotted the tell-tale signs on the body of Mr. Stubbs that meant that the detached soul of a somewhat-dead Dark wizard had taken control of his body. There was a Horcrux out there somewhere, and the soul of its creator was out there as well...and it was killing people by taking them as hosts.

Armed with this knowledge, Harry and Ron had proceeded to the most well-known store in Britain with a reputation for buying and selling Dark items: Borgin and Burke's.

"You do realize that there's not going to be a sign in the window saying 'Horcruxes, half price!'" Ron pointed out. "Couldn't it just be some old necklace or something? How are we supposed to know?"

"Voldemort's the only wizard in the past hundred years that we know created Horcruxes," Harry said, making sure he kept his voice down. Knockturn Alley was no place to be saying the former Dark Lord's name. "So either he's got another one out there that we never knew about, or he taught one of the Death Eaters how to make them. Either way, there's one place that'll sell stuff that used to belong to Death Eaters."

"Borgin and Burke's," Ron said darkly. "Why do we even let them stay open? We should confiscate their whole bloody stock and chuck Borgin in Azkaban!"

"Malfoy would never let it happen," Harry reminded him.

Perhaps some additional explanation would be useful. In the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, the Malfoy family, while avoiding charges and/or prison sentences, had dramatically fallen from grace. Not only had they lost a great deal of their social standing, but due to a long and embarrassing series of civil suits, much of their family fortune had been depleted. They were by no means in the poorhouse, but their days of Ministry-controlling bribes seemed to be at an end.

Or were they? Lucius Malfoy had all but vanished from the public eye, but his son and heir Draco Malfoy refused to accept a life of shame and obscurity, and over the past thirteen years, Malfoy had managed to rebuild a considerable amount of his fortune while establishing himself as a legitimate, if not totally ethical, businessman. Noting that the value of anything related to the Dark Arts had plummeted after Voldemort's defeat, Malfoy had begun purchasing various shops and establishments in Knockturn Alley, knowing that as soon as Voldemort began to fade from public attention, interest in Dark items would return. And it had worked. Soon, Malfoy was bringing in a tidy profit from the many enterprises he controlled. Beyond that, with money came respect, and slowly but surely, Malfoy's name began to be spoken with respect once more. And as it happened, the very first establishment Malfoy had purchased was Borgin and Burke's, the one place you could always find something illegal or unpleasant.

Harry, Ron, and the three Mad-Eyes finally reached the store, and quickly ducked inside. The claustrophobic store had a vaguely unpleasant odour, and the air itself seemed stale. The five wizards were quickly confronted by Borgin himself, an oily and decrepit man whose eyes shone with malice and barely-restrained loathing at the sight of Harry Potter.

"I haven't bloody done anything," he grumbled.

"Oh, I very much doubt that," Harry replied with matching politeness...or lack thereof. "May we have a private word?" Throughout this exchange, the few patrons inside the store had begun to slowly shuffle towards the exit, eager to avoid a confrontation with the Wizarding world's most famous Auror. Glaring with hatred, Borgin beckoned the Aurors to follow him, and the group made their way to the dimly-lit storeroom at the back of the shop.

"Now what do you lot want?" Borgin spat, "other than to force me out of business!"

"Spare me," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "As long as Malfoy's running the show, your job is secure." He signalled to his companions, who lit up their wands and began to search the shelves of goods.

"Hey! You can't do that! Get away from those!" Borgin protested. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to Harry. "What are you looking for this time?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Harry admitted, and a vein began to throb in Borgin's forehead. "Perhaps you can help me with that. I'm looking for anything that used to be owned by a Death Eater."

"You won't find anything like that here," Borgin insisted. "And that's bloody unspecific anyways."

"It wouldn't be any old thing," Harry elaborated, talking as much to himself as he was to Borgin. "It would be something valuable in some way, even if it was only sentimental value... and it wouldn't have belonged to just any Death Eater. It would have to be someone he trusted..."

"Oh, what are you on about now?" Borgin grumbled. "And you can bloody stop that!" he snapped at Ron, who was rummaging through a box of (probably cursed) jewellery. "If you're looking for Death Eater memorabilia, you won't find any here. Mr. Malfoy made it very clear that if anyone tried to sell me anything like that, I was to refuse and report them to the Department of Magical Law-Enforcement."

"I find that a little hard to believe," muttered one of the Mad-Eyes, a middle-aged wizard with a wrinkled and serious face.

Oh...perhaps I have neglected my explanations. Last time, I promise! Reader take note: the following information was not widely available at the point in the story which I have reached, but many of you are no doubt aware of it now, largely thanks to Crawley and the ever-sensationalist _Prophet_. Soon after assuming the position of Head of the Auror Office, Harry became painfully aware of the opposition he was going to face. Many voices within the Ministry had protested Harry's appointment, fearing that a cult of personality was forming around the young wizard. He was too young, they had argued, and the fact that much of his Auror training had been forgone in light of his experience fighting Voldemort had also raised the ire of others in the Ministry, who felt that he was being given preferential treatment.

Perhaps he was simply concerned for the well-being of the Wizarding world. Perhaps he feared for his own safety. Or perhaps, as some suggested, he could not feel totally secure unless he possessed some measure of control over all that surrounded him. Whatever his motivation may have been, Harry had secretly recruited a select group of Aurors whom he knew to be both highly skilled and sympathetic to his ideals. This group, named after celebrated Auror Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, was completely unknown to the rest of the Auror office; they were treated no differently than any other Aurors, but were simply Harry's first choices to send on assignments or to head investigations. Harry knew very well that if knowledge of the group became public, the political consequences would be severe. The already controversial head of the Auror office...hell, one of the most controversial wizards of the century...was forming a "secret society" within the Ministry of Magic? No, it was better to keep such things quiet. But anyways, back to Borgin.

"Yes," Harry agreed, "I don't recall you ever contacting the Ministry about such matters."

"Well, perhaps that's because there hasn't been anything to report," Borgin said shiftily.

"Doubt it," Ron commented, gingerly picking up something that looked suspiciously like a Hand of Glory. Borgin glared at him, but Harry smirked.

"You know, you could get a considerable stint in Azkaban for some of this stuff," he told him. "And don't think that your association with Mr. Malfoy makes you above the law. Besides, he'd make just as much money without you, so unless you can convince me otherwise..." Borgin swore under his breath.

"Fine, fine. I was telling the truth when I said that you wouldn't find anything here," Borgin said reluctantly. "Mr. Malfoy instructed me that any items related to You-Know-Who or the Death Eaters was to be handed over to him."

"Why? What does he want with them?" Harry questioned him, puzzled.

"I wouldn't know," Borgin said, and now he was the one to smirk, knowing that, for the moment, he was off the hook. "You'd have to ask Mr. Malfoy."

Try as they might, the Aurors could get nothing more out of the unpleasant shopkeeper. Rather than retell that particularly uninteresting part of the story, I think that I shall get back to Hogwarts instead.

That evening, the train finally arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Having changed into our uniforms, we made our way to the Thestral-drawn carriages while trying to avoid stepping on the gawking first-years. Although really, who could blame them? All of us had been just as awestruck when we'd first arrived. As we walked to the carriages, we waved to Hagrid, who was calling the first-years over to him. It was hard to believe that I had ever been that short...but perhaps they just looked smaller due to contrast with the half-giant groundskeeper.

As we disembarked from the carts, Gordon and I began looking around for Phillip, eager to see if he'd managed to get his face cursed off by Amanda already. Unfortunately, Gordon managed to run into Amanda before I managed to run into Phillip, and the two were soon deeply immersed in a passionate argument on the correct application of explosives.

"I'm serious! Any problem in the world can be solved with the correct application of explosives," was Gordon's point.

"Not _any_ problem," was Amanda's. "In fact, that usually makes problems worse."

"No, I don't mean just chucking explosives around like Muggles do. I mean the _correct_ application of explosives."

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh, really? Fine, name one problem that can't be solved with explosives."

"Okay...how about the last Wizarding War? Obviously you couldn't have solved that with explosives!"

"Sure you could have!" Gordon countered. "Just blow up all the Death Eaters!"

"That wouldn't have helped! Voldemort was immortal, remember?"

"Immortal my ass! Nothing's immortal once you shove some C4 down its throat!" Although entertained, I continued my search for Phillip, eventually finding him in the crowd of students milling about the front doors.

"Oh, hello Sebastian," he called with a smile. "And just because I know you're wondering, no I have not had my balls cursed off yet."

"How'd you manage that?" I asked. "And hello by the way."

"Miss Watson and I are planning on just not speaking to each other," he explained. "Funny enough, it's a verbal agreement." He grinned. "What idiot made her a prefect anyways?"

"The same idiot that made you one," I said with a smirk.

"Oh, how very clever of you," he drawled, applauding sarcastically. A few feet away, the explosives debate continued.

"Fine," Amanda said. "Let's say that you _could_ somehow blow up every single Death Eater in Britain _and_ Voldemort too. Don't you think the Muggles might notice if things start exploding?"

"So?"

"So? How would we cover that up? We'd just end up revealing the entire Wizarding world to the Muggles!"

"Oh come on," Gordon said. "We'd find some way to explain it. The Muggles didn't even notice Voldemort! Blowing up the Death Eaters couldn't possibly reveal us."

"It would still be too risky," Amanda insisted disapprovingly. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Fine, let's say _somehow_ the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee can't think of a cover-up, and we end up revealing ourselves to the Muggles. That doesn't mean that we didn't solve the Death Eater problem!"

"But...but what does that matter? We'll have an even bigger problem!"

"Yes," Gordon said triumphantly, "but it won't be the _same_ problem! And besides, then we can solve the new problem with more explosives!" Clutching her forehead, Amanda pushed past him and walked ahead, leaving Gordon looking rather pleased with himself.

We finally made it inside, and began to walk towards the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast. As we walked, we were approached by the school's Deputy Headmaster, and current Potions master, Professor Slughorn.

"Excuse me, excuse me!" he called out. "Carmilla Le Fanu! Have we got a Carmilla Le Fanu here?" I looked around for my new friend...well, I supposed she would be a friend...but the crowd of identically-dressed students around me made this impossible. However, Carmilla emerged after a moment, now dressed in Hogwarts robes that notably bore no House crest. It occurred to me that I'd never actually heard of a student transferring in or out of Hogwarts before. "Could you come with me please?" Slughorn said to Carmilla, who nodded and followed him out of the hallway. Muttering amongst ourselves, we continued our march to the Great Hall.

The feast itself was fairly similar to the four Welcoming Feasts that had preceded it. Because we could only sit with other members of our Houses, I was mercifully spared from having to spend time with both Gordon and Amanda together, which would have been a trying ordeal under any circumstance. In any case, Gordon was quickly drawn away by Mitchell Nguyen, who had been his Quidditch teammate for many years. I sat down in between Amanda and Phillip (dangerous, but the only way I could talk to both of them) and across from Polina and fellow fifth-year Susan Rangarajan (whom had, upon learning that I had planned to write about the events of our fifth year, insisted that I describe her only as the epitome of grace, elegance, and awesomeness, drama queen that she is...).

But before we could eat, of course, we had to sit through the Sorting. This wouldn't have been any trouble at all if I hadn't been quite so hungry, but the knowledge that an endless supply of mouth-watering food was _just_ out of reach was torturous. It was interesting to see the first-years though; I still couldn't believe that I'd ever been that short. And, of course, I clapped along with everyone else for each new Ravenclaw. But just as Professor Slughorn reached the end of the list, he called out one final name.

"Le Fanu, Carmilla!" I suddenly noticed the mysterious girl walking between the House tables up to the front of the hall, where the Sorting Hat waited.

"Who's that?" Amanda whispered to me.

"She's a transfer student," I whispered back, noting that the information was spreading across the Great Hall like wildfire. "She was sitting with me, Gordon, and Olivia on the train."

"I've never heard of a student transferring to Hogwarts before," she told me. The chorus of whispering died down as Slughorn place the Sorting Hat on her head; everyone was eagerly waiting to hear which House the mysterious transfer student would be sorted into. The silence lasted for over a minute as the Hat deliberated; the girl must have been particularly difficult to sort. I knew from experience that sitting up there waiting for the Hat's decision could be quite intimidating, especially when it was taking such a long time. At least in her case, she wore no glasses, and the large Hat therefore fell over her eyes, sparing her from having to look at the hundreds of students staring fixatedly at her. But eventually, the Hat announced its decision in a booming voice that echoed throughout the hall.

"RAVENCLAW!" My table erupted in cheers and applause, and Carmilla, smiling faintly, jogged over to our table and sat down next to Susan, who immediately began talking to her as if they'd known each other for years.

All eyes turned back to the staff table. The Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, rose as if she were about to speak. She opened her mouth slightly, but then seemed to reconsider. She smiled, something she usually reserved for special occasions.

"Tuck in," she said. As she spoke, the plates covering the tables immediately filled themselves with an amazing variety of food, which we more or less attacked like a pack of starving hyenas. As I ate, my mind wandered four years backwards, when I had sat upon the stool at the front of the hall with the Sorting Hat on my own head. It had considered Slytherin and Hufflepuff, as well as Ravenclaw, which it had finally decided upon. I was a little disappointed at not being sorted into Gordon's House (we had already met on Platform 9 ¾, and by the time we'd reached Hogwarts, we knew we were going to be friends), but I decided that it wouldn't matter too much in the end. As I walked to the cheering Ravenclaw table, one of the other first-years offered me a seat next to her (which was _very_ nice, as the mass of older students looked very intimidating to my eleven-year-old self). That first-year, interesting enough, was Amanda Watson, whom I was sitting next to now. Two friends on my first day? Not bad, I had thought, not bad at all.

My reverie was interrupted when I realized that Phillip was talking to me.

"...and so she suggests that, starting then, we just shouldn't talk to one another so there'd be less opportunity for conflict. Then she got pissed when I didn't answer." Polina and Susan laughed, but Amanda just glared into her pumpkin juice. As for myself, I just tried to enjoy the best meal I'd had in a long time (no slur against my father's cooking, but he can't compare to a team of house elves).

By the time we'd stuffed ourselves to the brim, we were all in no mood whatsoever to listen to important announcements from Professor McGonagall. So obviously, Professor McGonagall decided to make important announcements at precisely this time.

"Welcome!" she said enthusiastically...well, as enthusiastically as she ever was. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before we all head off to bed, there are a few start-of-term announcements. To begin, first-years should take note that the Forbidden Forest is, as the name implies, forbidden...and some of our older students would do well to remember that too." I could practically feel her staring at me, and then at Gordon (which we probably deserved after that whole fiasco in third year...but that's a story for another time). "Quidditch tryouts will take place on the second week of the term. First-year students may not participate, as they are not allowed to bring their own broomsticks to school. Additionally, our caretaker Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that magic is not to be used in the halls, and that there is a list of items that are banned at school, which is posted on the door of his office. Also, students should take note that several rooms in the Charms Corridor seem to have switched places with rooms on the fourth floor. A list will be posted of any scheduling changes that will result from this.

"And finally, I would like to introduce a new member of our staff." I, along with everyone else in the hall, scanned the staff table to see any new faces...and indeed, we found one. He was a young man with a prominent forehead and spiked brown hair, and his face seemed set in a rather stern expression. "This is Professor Johnstone, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Professor McGonagall said, indicating him with her hand. As Professor Johnstone rose to accept applause from the students, his severe expression vanished, replaced by a warm and laughing smile. As the applause died down, he returned to his seat, the smile lingering on his face.

"He seems interesting," I said quietly to the people around me.

"Never seen a teacher with hair like that," Susan commented with some amusement. Up at the front, Professor McGonagall was wrapping up.

"And with that, I think it's about time that we all got to bed. Classes will begin promptly at 9:00 AM tomorrow, so I suggest that you all try to get as much sleep as you can. Goodnight and off you go!" With that, the teachers all rose and began to leave, and, predictably, so did the students. All of the students. At the same time. No one ever seemed to learn that this was a rather unproductive way to leave a room.

Amid the noise and confusion, I noticed that Amanda was nudging me.

"Tell Phillip that we're supposed to show the first-years where to go," she said. Before I could even begin to consider relaying her message, Phillip was tugging on my other arm.

"Tell Amanda that I am perfectly aware of what I am supposed to be doing."

"Tell Phillip that if he's so aware of what he's supposed to be doing, then why has he let half of the first-years wander out of the hall?"

"Tell Amanda..." Deciding not to pursue a career as a messenger boy, I joined the swarm of students trying to escape the hall. Once outside, I was approached by Carmilla, who looked slightly concerned.

"Um..." she said hesitantly, "I lost Susan and Polina, and, um...I don't know where I'm supposed to go."

"Just follow me," I said, "I'll show you." We made our way to the Ravenclaw Tower, soon joined by several of our fellow fifth-years. Oddly enough, our group was soon approached by Kenneth and several other veterans of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. When he spoke, it was to Carmilla, and I made sure to roll my eyes as noticeably as possible...although admittedly, eyeball movements are rarely that noticeable.

"Hey, so I hear you're new here," he said. "I'm Kenneth Davies. If you need any help finding..." His introduction was cut short by his girlfriend (and Chaser) Hannah Wilson, who dragged him away by the arm, which was a rather surprising display of strength for the veritably tiny girl. She wore a rather stormy expression when Kenneth was looking, but she looked back at us and winked when he couldn't see. "I was just trying to be welcoming!" he protested indignantly. Any further protests were quickly swallowed up by the noise around us. One of the players, a Beater named Taylor Lennon (who insisted on being called Earl for reasons I did not understand), stayed behind to chuckle with us.

"He never learns, does he?" he laughed.

"He probably was just trying to be friendly," I said, shaking my head. "Anyways, see you later Taylor."

"My name is Earl!" he insisted as he walked away.

Amazingly, we ended up being the first batch of Ravenclaws to actually reach the tower. As was to be expected, the door was closed to us. After a moment, the brass eagle-shaped knocker spoke the following riddle:

"I can be cracked, I can be made. I can be told, I can be played." After a second of consideration, I looked up and answered.

"A joke." The door swung open, revealing the Ravenclaw common room, a large, circular, and predominantly blue space. Soon after our arrival, Phillip and Amanda showed up with the first-years, who gawked in amazement at the room, particularly the high domed ceiling, which was painted to resemble the night sky. They were followed by more and more students from all seven years. For a while, we all lingered in the common room, sharing stories of summer, complaining about our parents, and agreeing that Gryffindor was most definitely going down this year, but eventually, all the students began to trickle upwards into their dormitories.

"Hey, Phillip!" I called out. "Do you still snore?"

"Loud and clear, mate!" he answered, ascending the stairs.

"Great," I muttered, walking over to one of the arched windows. I gazed out into the night, losing myself in my thoughts. It was a strange thing, being a fifth-year. I'd be taking my O.W.L.s at the end of the year, and after that I'd have to be pretty well set on what I wanted to do with my life afterwards...but what the hell _was_ that exactly? As accustomed as I'd become to the Wizarding world, whenever the idea of a career or a future came into my head, it was invariably one of the Muggle variety. What _did_ I want to do, anyways? It suddenly occurred to me that I was the only one left in the common room.

"It's strange being a fifth-year, isn't it?" came a female voice from behind me. All right, perhaps I wasn't the _only_ one left... Amanda leaned against the window next to me wearing a contemplative expression. "Just think: in a few years, we'll never be coming back to this place. But...I can't imagine _not_ being here! I mean, what else am I going to do with myself? I haven't even really thought about..." she broke off suddenly, and turned to look at me. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"Actually, you just about read my mind," I said with a smile. The sound of footsteps rang out from above me. I turned around to see Phillip standing on the stairs.

"Come on Seb, I can't possibly be that bad! Get some sleep; I'm not waking you up tomorrow." With that, he turned walked back to our dormitory. Throughout the entire exchange, he didn't even look at Amanda, nor did she show any sign of having heard him, or even being aware of his presence. They must have been taking this not-talking thing extremely seriously.

"Goodnight Amanda," I said, climbing the stairs.

"Night Seb," she replied distantly, still staring out the window, presumably lost in her thoughts.

Of course, it did not occur to me that the reason Phillip had not acknowledged Amanda's presence might have been that, in fact, she was not really there at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**That Which You Fear**

When first period rolled around the next morning, I was sitting in my traditional place at the back of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom trying in vain to recall the details of a very odd dream I'd had last night. All I could really remember was this image of a tall, statuesque woman with flowing black hair. There was probably something wrong with me.

Due to an oddly small number of students in my year, even our core classes contained students from other Houses; in this case, Gryffindor students. I was twirling my wand around in my fingers while Taylor snored away next to me; Professor Johnstone was late. This could either signify that he had a delightful disrespect for authority, or that he was a moron who had slept in on his first day on the job. Either way, I would reserve my judgement until he'd actually gotten around to teaching.

In front of me, Brock and Polina were sitting together, with her resting her head on his shoulder in a rather adorable way, and in front of them, Amanda and Jasmine were deep in conversation about something that was probably related to Quidditch. I noted that Carmilla was sitting alone in the other back corner of the room, although she didn't seem bothered by her isolation. I contemplated going to sit with her, seeing as Taylor wasn't providing much in the way of conversation, but decided against it. Maybe she just didn't want to be bothered.

Just as this train of thought reached the end of its tracks, Professor Johnstone walked in. His hair would have indicated that he'd just gotten out of bed, but I have an eye for the deliberately dishevelled...likely a result of spending far too much time with Gordon.

"Hey!" he greeted us cheerfully, setting a small stack of papers down on his desk, and collapsing into a spinning chair that wouldn't have looked out of place in a modern office building, but seemed rather strange in the old-fashioned classroom. "Sorry I'm late. Mr. Filch found a boggart in a broom closet, and he wanted me to send the little guy packing. Unfortunately, he wasn't all that eager to come out, so I told him I'd have to deal with that later." The entire anecdote was told in a loud announcer-like voice, the kind that makes even the most trivial of stories sound utterly fascinating. Scanning the classroom with sea-green eyes, he noticed the still-sleeping Taylor, and grinned. He pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Taylor, loudly saying "_Depulso!"_ I ducked my head as the spell shot past me, hitting Taylor in the head, and knocking him backwards off his chair. Every head in the room turned to the back, but Taylor emerged barely a second later, righting his chair and sitting back down as though nothing had happened.

"Yes sir?" he inquired. Slapping his forehead, Professor Johnstone laughed uproariously, and the entire class soon joined in. Taylor even managed to take a small bow before Professor Johnstone managed to call the class to order again.

"Um...Taylor Lennon, right?" Professor Johnstone said, eyeing a seating plan on his desk. "Gryffindor?"

"Actually, my name is Earl," Taylor told him. Johnstone raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. "And yeah, I'm a Gryffindor."

"Brilliant!" Johnstone declared happily. "So am I! Anyways, since I noticed you were really paying attention a few minutes ago, I'm going to assume that you can tell me what a boggart is, right?"

"Um..." Taylor faltered. Johnstone sighed disappointedly, but Taylor piped up. "No, I know this! Um...oh! I know! He's this dead actor guy!" The class erupted in laughter for the second time, although those of us who had been raised in Muggle families were a little more sympathetic; those who had lived their entire lives with wizards would, of course, not know about Humphrey Bogart.

"Close enough," Johnstone conceded, chuckling. "I don't suppose anyone else –" Before he had a chance to finish, my hand shot up, along with Amanda's, Polina's and Kenneth's. Johnstone smiled. "Well, what else did I expect from a class full of Ravenclaws? Hm..." He narrowed his eyes, considering his options. "You, in the back. The one dislocating his arm." He eyed the seating plan again. "Sebastian Crane, what is a boggart?" Amanda turned around to glare in mock affront, while I lowered my arm with satisfaction.

"A boggart is a shape-shifter that takes the form of whatever a person fears the most," I said. Johnstone clapped his hands once loudly.

"Brilliant! But perhaps not unexpected. Five points to Ravenclaw!" The amount was surprising, given that I'd only said something we should've known from third year, but no one was going to argue with House points. "And who can tell me a boggart's greatest weakness?" The same hands shot up, and Johnstone chuckled slightly. "In the front this time. Um..." he paused, scanning the seating plan. "Amanda Watson, what do you think?"

"Laughter," she said. "A boggart can be destroyed by laughter."

"Exactly! Five more points," Johnstone said. "Yes, when confronted with a boggart, one must find it within themselves to bring out the humour of the situation, and laugh...which can be tricky when your greatest fear is staring down at you. Thankfully, we wizards have a spell that makes the task a little easier. Does anyone know it?" Same hands, but this time Kenneth was chosen.

"_Riddikulus_," he said.

"Correct! Another five points to Ravenclaw!"

"Um...actually, I'm a Gryffindor," Kenneth corrected him. Johnstone winced slightly at his mistake.

"Five to Gryffindor then. And as for the extra...Phillip Keates! You...um...your hair is messy, five points from Ravenclaw!" I can assure you that the Gryffindors found this much more amusing than we did.

"It most certainly is not!" Phil protested. "And you could've just asked another question!"

"I could have," Johnstone laughed. "Anyways, it's good that you guys remembered that much; shows that us teachers aren't wasting our lives." His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment, and his voice took on a dreamlike quality. "I remember my boggart lesson in third year...probably the most fun I've ever had in this class." Judging by the confused expressions my fellow students showed to one another, I was not the only one who found this statement puzzling.

"Fun, sir?" I asked. He gave me a confused look of his own.

"You didn't find the boggart lesson fun? I mean, granted it can be difficult to confront your own fears like that, but..." The answer seemed to suddenly dawn on him. "Sweet yutzes! You guys didn't actually _fight_ a boggart?"

"No Professor," I told him, "we just did a section on them from the textbook." Johnstone looked as though he were about to start tearing at his hair...although that would have been rather futile, as the majority of it had been gelled into haphazard spikes.

"That...that is a travesty," he said, eyes wide. "Okay, you know what? Grab your wands and come with me. Leave your stuff. We're going to go fight a boggart, right now." Within seconds, every student in the room was out of their chairs and wide awake. Only a few minutes into the class, and we were having a practical lesson? Up to this point, most of our DADA work had been purely theoretical. There were two schools of thought on teaching magic: some believed that a safe, theoretical approach was the best way to go, while other advocated actual experience with as much magic as possible. The two factions had naturally chosen Hogwarts as their battleground, leading to us swinging back and forth in terms of teaching styles over the years.

We followed the professor out of the room and down the hall like a trail of black-robed ducks after their mother (although I had never seen a mother duck wearing an argyle sweater under its robes). Soon, we reached the boggart-inhabited broom closet, which Filch (the bane of almost every student at Hogwarts) was guarding with a sour expression...but then, I had never seen the man _without_ a sour expression.

"You might want to clear out," Johnstone told him. "This could get messy." Filch cringed at the word, as any mess in the school was his responsibility, but he reluctantly stalked off, with his equally sour cat Mrs. Norris trailing behind him. "Now," Johnstone said, "at the moment, the boggart is hiding inside this closet where no one can see it. No one knows what a boggart looks like in its natural state. Now, I like to start my classes with a Question of the Day, because it lets everyone get to know each other a little better. Normally, I'd have you answer publicly, but just to keep this lesson interesting..." He was interrupted by a loud rattling as the closet door shook violently. Several of the students flinched, but Johnstone simply turned around and spoke to the door. "You can come out in a minute!" He then turned back to us. "Like I was saying, to keep this lesson interesting, I want you to keep your answer to yourself. The Question of the Day is: what is your greatest fear, and how can you turn it into something comical?" Well, _that_ was going to be a problem. I'd been arachnophobic since childhood, but how the hell was I supposed to make spiders funny? Looking around at the other students lining the hallway, I saw that they all seemed to be engrossed in similar dilemmas. Kenneth was actually muttering to himself...I caught something that sounded a bit like "fish"...and I got the distinct impression that Amanda was going through a list of all the things that even remotely scared her. All the while, Johnstone was walking around eyeing us, watching for something unseen.

"Has everyone got something?" he said after a minute, and most of us muttered affirmatives. "Brilliant! Um...let's see... You with the hair! Keates! How would you like to go first?"

"Professor, first off, there is nothing wrong with my hair, and second, you are hardly one to speak on the subject." Johnstone laughed sharply as we "Oh!"-ed in unison.

"Okay, now you're _definitely _going first!" he said. "Wand at the ready." Phil raised his wand and cautiously pointed it at the closet door, which gave another rattle as if to acknowledge his presence. All of us formed a semicircle around him, with some of us jumping slightly every time the closet door shook. "So, what are you afraid of, Phillip Keates?"

"I'd have to say failure," he said conversationally. "But I'm not sure how a boggart would turn into an abstract concept."

"That just means this will be even more interesting for you," Johnstone told him, "since you won't know exactly what you'll be facing. That will also make it trickier, though, since it'll be harder to turn whatever it is into something funny if you don't know it's coming." He paused in thought for a moment. "Actually...yeah, this could be interesting. I'm going to go in and get it to come out now. Be ready for it, and remember: any situation, no matter how grim, can be made humorous...if you've got the talent." And with that, he quickly disappeared into the closet. I strained to hear any noise coming from within, and was caught completely off guard when the door swung open...and Johnstone walked back out. Instinctively, Phil swung his wand, but before he could utter the spell, Johnstone's expression turned to one of frustration that seemed alien to his face.

"No you idiot, don't point that thing at me! Sweet Moses, can you do anything right? This is third year stuff! I'd think by now you'd be able to tell a boggart apart from your bloody professor!" Normally, this would have been very amusing to watch, but the searing expression of revulsion and hatred on Professor Johnstone's face was just so out of place...I didn't want to look at it, that's how bad it was, but I couldn't bring myself to look away. "Have you got any talent at all? You're a complete failure as a wizard! I expected a lot more from you, Keates!" Phil's face wore a bewildered and lost expression...but then, suddenly, the answer came to him, and the change in his expression was the prompting my own brain needed to realize the obvious.

"So that's the trick..." I muttered. Phil flicked his wand at Johnstone mid-tirade, and yelled out the charm.

"_Riddikulus_!" There was a loud crack, and Johnstone stumbled backwards, suddenly clad in scuba gear. He tried to take a menacing step forwards, but tripped over his flippers, and fell on his face, provoking a chorus of laughter. But of course, this was not Professor Johnstone. The _real_ Professor Johnstone chose that moment to step out of the broom closet. To anyone who hadn't realized, it became rather apparent at that point that the Johnstone in scuba gear was, in fact, the boggart.

"That worked even better than I'd expected," Johnstone said happily. "I was hoping it would turn into me. But I must ask," he said, chuckling at his floundering doppelganger, "why scuba gear?"

"It's a long story," Phil said, grinning. Behind him, the boggart was slowly getting back on its feet.

"All right, line up!" Johnstone instructed. "Everyone will have a turn. Remember, you have to make the situation _funny_. Carmilla, you're up first!" I would have spent more time wondering how he remembered her name instantly while he needed to consult a seating plan to learn all of ours, but the spectacle before me was quite distracting.

The boggart transformed as soon as Carmilla came within a few feet of it. She recoiled slightly as a bloodstained corpse shuffled towards her, sightless eyes fixed on her. It reached out with one arm, as if to drag Carmilla back to the afterlife with it. Carmilla hesitated for a brief moment, and then swung her wand.

"_Riddikulus_!" The corpse spontaneously began to do the iconic dance from the Thriller music video, much to the delight of my classmates and me. But really, what else were you going to do with a zombie? However, Carmilla was not laughing with the rest of us, and seemed only mildly amused.

"Brilliant, brilliant!" Johnstone complimented her. "I love that idea! Next up, Miss Ra...Miss Ranja...Susan, you're next!" Susan stepped up to the boggart, and as it saw her, it stopped dancing, and began to change form. It now had the appearance of a brown-skinned woman with a stormy and severe face, wearing a bright orange sari, and glaring at Susan. In fact, I noticed as I leaned in for a closer look that she bore a certain resemblance to Susan. Her mother? But why on earth would her own mother be her greatest fear? Then again, perhaps the intimidating look on the boggart's face as it advanced towards Susan answered that question...

"_Riddikulus_!" The boggart suddenly pulled off the mask of Susan's mother, revealing itself to be Neil Patrick Harris...still wearing a bright orange sari. Now _that_ was funny. Boggart-NPH took a few steps backwards as we loudly laughed at it, a confused expression on its face.

"Don't let up!" Johnstone instructed. "Hannah Wilson, go for it!" Now, I will never understand why Hannah's greatest fear was squirrels, but I can tell you that a squirrel singing Journey songs is really something to see. Then, after Victoria Seo had dealt with a rather large and probably rabid cat, it was Polina's turn. As she stepped up, the boggart transformed into...a car? What was menacing about a car? In fact, even Polina seemed confused as she took a step closer. Suddenly, the car turned on, flashed its headlights, and revved its engine. Polina flinched slightly out of surprise, but seemed just as bewildered by the boggart's form...but then, realization flashed across her face.

"Everyone, get out of the way!" she screamed, diving to the side. I might have stayed confused for a second...but only a second, because as soon as the words had left her lips, the car shot forward...right towards us! We scattered faster than I would have believed we could move. The car stopped just short of the wall (thankfully, the hallway was a particularly wide one), made a full turn, and raced back towards us. We were soon running all over the hallway in an effort to avoid the rampaging boggart-car...and try as we might, we were unable to keep it from banging into the walls, taking chunks with it. We even lost a portrait, although its inhabitants (a trio of Victorian ladies) managed to flee into the adjacent picture (which was occupied by a rather cross-looking elephant). But the boggart's real target was Polina, and it came very close to running her over; more than once, she had to dive for cover while Professor Johnstone cast shield charms around her. It was the best we could do; the car moved too fast for any of us to fire off an Impediment Jinx.

Eventually, I realized that there was only one way to solve this.

"Polina, get behind me!" I called out. She looked at me quizzically, but complied. The car followed her like a homicidal puppy, and as it approached, I didn't move out of the way. Instead, I stepped towards it.

"What are you doing?" Hannah shrieked. "Get out of the way!" But I stood my ground, knowing that, logically, my tactic _should_ work. Of course, if it didn't, I was probably going to end up as a large stain on the hallway floor. So I was _really_ hoping that this would work.

The boggart-car drew closer and closer until it was nearly on top of me...and it stopped. I breathed a very loud sigh of relief. The boggart seemed to eye me with its headlights, and after a moment, transformed. See, _this_ was the part I hadn't thought through very well. I'd suspected that the boggart would cease to be a car if it were faced with a new target, but unfortunately, this meant that I was now going to have to face...

Several of the people near me shrieked and recoiled...although none recoiled as much as I did. The boggart had transformed into a massive, ghostly-white, red-faced, and utterly horrifying spider. It stared at me for a moment, and I couldn't help but stare back despite the cold terror flooding my body. Then, it moved forward towards me faster than I would have thought possible for something so big.

I would like to say that I stood my ground like I had with the car, found the strength within me to overcome my fear, and defeated the boggart. But in reality, as soon as the boggart-spider starting coming towards me, I fell on my ass rather ungracefully, and crawled away as quickly as I could while the spider swung its legs at me. I still couldn't think of anything that could make this situation funny...well, funny for me anyways. I suspect that many of my classmates would have found the spectacle a lot more amusing if...well, if there wasn't a giant spider charging at them. I racked my brains, but no solution came to me.

"Give it a top hat!" Phil yelled. I turned and stared at him in bewilderment.

"What? Why?"

"Have you got a better idea?" Well, he had a point there. The boggart-spider loomed over me, fangs weeping venom. I raised my wand, desperately tried to envision the creature in a top hat, and forced the incantation out my paralyzed mouth.

"_Riddikulus_!" And amazingly, it worked. The spider withdrew, now wearing a nice silk top hat, which was not even that amusing to be honest. "What was that supposed to accomplish?" I shouted at Phil.

"Well, are you still scared?" Phil inquired.

"Yes! It's still a spider!"

"Seb, if you're scared of a spider in a top hat, then I'm rather concerned about the torment you've endured at the hands of the upper class," Phil said. Needless to say, this made no sense to me whatsoever.

"Oh, just get out of the way," Amanda said, stepping in between me and the high-class boggart-spider, giving me the opportunity to get back on my feet and move aside with what little dignity I had left. The boggart transformed again, this time into a demented-looking man with bloodstained clothes swinging an enormous and bloody meat cleaver. Amanda raised her wand, and was about to shout out the spell when the boggart (serial killer?) swung the cleaver at her arm, forcing her to step aside and lose her focus. Again she raised her wand, but the boggart swung again too, and this time she had to dive out of the way to avoid losing her head. "Oh for the love of..._Riddikulus_!" The boggart came in for another swing, but as it stepped towards her, it slipped on a banana peel and fell on its ass rather gracelessly...although hopefully with less grace than I'd fallen. Otherwise I would have looked completely ridiculous...

"Your turn Brockoli!" Kenneth declared, shoving Brock towards the boggart. Instead of getting back up, the boggart simply looked up at him as it transformed. When it was done changing shape, a look of shock and horror came over Brock's face. The boggart was Polina.

But not simply Polina. The boggart-Polina looked up at us with lifeless, vacant eyes. Its skin was pale and marbled, and it lay like a puppet with all the strings cut. In short, it was dead.

The oddity of what we were seeing was plainly visible on the faces of all my classmates, and probably on mine as well. Some, like Jasmine and Susan, were visibly horrified. Others, like Kenneth and Taylor, seemed unsure whether or not they should look away. Amanda was biting her lip, visibly uncomfortable, but unwilling or unable to take her eyes off the thing, and Phil simply observed with mild interest. Polina herself, however, seemed completely transfixed and unable to look away. Her eyes were locked on the boggart, and the look on her face was neither one of fear or fascination, but something intense that lay between the two.

Brock stared at the corpse of his girlfriend for a few moments, doubtlessly drawing a complete blank. But then, who could blame him? How on earth were you supposed to turn the death of your girlfriend into something funny? Eventually, however, Brock found the solution.

"_Riddikulus_!" Suddenly, the corpse sat up, but not in the way a living person would. It moved slowly and zombie-like. It reached up to its face with almost robotic motions, and...pulled off the mask of Polina, revealing itself to be Neil Patrick Harris.

The uproar of laughter that followed this proved to be too much for the boggart. It flipped over onto its stomach, tried and failed to crawl away, and then exploded into a thousand wisps of smoke.

"Brilliant! Brilliant!" Professor Johnstone declared, applauding us. Then, looking around at the damage done to the walls by Polina's car, he commented: "But I don't think Mr. Filch is going to be very pleased about this." This was, of course, perfectly fine with all of us. "But in any case, each one of you that fought the boggart has earned your House five points! Oh...and we're just about out of time I think. Your homework..." We all groaned. "Actually...never mind. No homework tonight." His announcement provoked a chorus of cheers from the entire class.

"I think I'm going to like him," I commented to Amanda as we walked to our next class.

"Yes, he certainly does seem...interesting," she replied, sounding very much unlike herself. There was something very odd in her voice. But, I brushed it off, and turned my head around to see my fellow Ravenclaws. Polina seemed rather pleased with the idea that Brock's greatest fear was her death (the two had been walking hand in hand, gazing into each other's eyes until Brock had to leave with the other Gryffindors...and miraculously, they hadn't walked into anything), and she was discussing this fact rather loudly with Susan and Amanda. Wait, Amanda?

I turned back to where Amanda had been a second ago, and found no one there. As I'm sure you can imagine, this was _very_ unsettling. Had I just been talking to myself? I shook my head trying to clear my thoughts, and kept walking. There was enough pressure on me this year, especially with O.W.L.s coming up. The last thing I needed was for everyone to think I was going crazy.

Compared to our action-packed first class, the rest of the school day was comparatively uneventful, although we were treated to a very warm welcome from our History of Magic teacher, Professor McLaughlin.

"I was honestly hoping that some of you weren't going to be back," she said sardonically, "but it looks like I'm stuck with you lot for another year." Being best described as the psychological offspring of Oscar Wilde and Margaret Thatcher, Professor McLaughlin required a little getting used to, but almost inevitably became a favourite among many of her students for her fearlessly intellectual style of teaching and her razor-sharp wit. "Oh God, Sebastian Crane," she sighed, recognizing me. "You again. I don't suppose you've gotten any friends yet, have you?"

"I had friends before I even arrived here," I reminded her, smiling. And she returned the smile, if only slightly, to indicate that she was indeed happy to see us again.

"Right, so how much do you all remember about the Goblin Rebellion of 1812?"

Instead of rehashing the entire day, I think I will skip ahead to that evening, as this is where things start to go horribly wrong for everyone. After supper, myself, Gordon, Amanda, and Olivia decided to take advantage of our general lack of homework, and went down to Hagrid's hut for a visit. On the way, I entertained them with my theory that our universe was actually a fanfiction of reality, written by a socially-awkward teenager with no life, which served to explain why life could be so clichéd and ridiculous. While Olivia seemed somewhat interested, and Gordon found the idea quite amusing, Amanda was a bit more sceptical.

"I'm just saying, if life was fanfiction, I'd have a really hot and mysterious boyfriend," she insisted. "That's just how it would go."

"Hey, I actually know how you can solve that problem," Gordon told her. She stared at him suspiciously with one eyebrow raised. It took Gordon a second to clue in. "No, not me! It's a spell, something Professor Spanier told me about once."

"Really?" She was clearly unconvinced.

"Yeah, here's what you do. First, you need to draw a circle on a wall. Any wall will do, but it works better if it's made out of stone."

"Okay..."

"Next, you have to place your hands on either side of the circle. Look into the circle, and picture that mysterious boyfriend you want. Envision his face inside the circle."

"But wouldn't I..."

"Once you've got the image, smash your face into the wall until you're unconscious."

"What? Why?"

"Then tomorrow you'll wake up with a headache, because you're a moron." Olivia and I laughed explosively, but Amanda did not seem very amused.

It was dark by this time, but the bright light of the full moon allowed us to see easily. However, when we approached Hagrid's hut, we discovered that he was not alone. He was speaking with a group of about seven teachers, plus two men I couldn't see clearly.

"Hagrid, what's going on?" I asked as we got closer. Hagrid's face wore a deeply troubled expression, and just as he was about to speak, one of the unknown men indicated that he should not. Instead, the man stepped out of the crowd towards us. I heard Amanda gasp beside me, and my jaw may have dropped open at the sight. There was no mistaking the dark-haired, bespectacled man that stood before us.

"One of the students is missing," Harry Potter said, moonlight glinting off his glasses. "Teddy Lupin. He's run off into the Forbidden Forest."

* * *

**A/N: Because any problem in the world can be solved with the correct application of Neil Patrick Harris! And I must confess that I was listening to "Not Afraid" while writing the boggart-fighting scene. Woot for irony! Reviews please, and chapter 5 will be ready as soon as possible.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Keeping Secrets**

A few hours prior to this, Harry and Ron had arrived at Malfoy Manor, seeking out their oldest rival. The Mad-Eyes had been left behind; antagonising Malfoy would likely be counterproductive. To their chagrin, however, they had scarcely reached the Manor's ominous gates when they were stopped in their tracks by a diminutive and pitiful-looking house elf.

"Apologies sirs, but Master Malfoy will see no visitors today," he said. Then, recognizing Harry, he gave a squeak of excitement. "H-Harry Potter! To think that old Gamby would ever see the day! It is such an honour, sir!"

"No one ever recognizes _me_..." Ron muttered.

"Couldn't you make an exception?" Harry asked the house elf. "We're here on very important business." But Gamby shook his head dramatically, long ears flailing.

"No, no sir. Master Malfoy will see no visitors today," he repeated fervently.

"Gamby, it is very important that we speak with Malfoy!" Harry said, strengthening his voice, but not raising it. It had been many years since Harry has ever raised his voice to a house elf, and he didn't plan on breaking the streak. "Countless lives are at stake!" Gamby's eyes began to water, and his voice began to quiver with distress.

"Please Harry Potter, ask this no more! Master Malfoy does not wish to see anyone at all today! He...he..." Gamby hesitated, unsure if he was allowed to speak the truth in this matter, even knowing that it would likely result in the two unwelcome visitors leaving his master alone. "Mr. Malfoy is sick, very sick indeed."

"Malfoy's sick?" Ron blurted out. Gamby shook his head again.

"Not my master; Master's father."

"Lucius? What's wrong with him?" Ron questioned, perplexed.

"A great sadness has brought sickness to his heart," Gamby said. "The death of Mrs. Malfoy has brought such emptiness to his life...oh I weep for his sorrow!"

"I sure as hell don't," Ron muttered, but Harry nudged him hard.

"And that is not all that ails poor Mr. Malfoy," Gamby continued, almost in tears now. "Some great torment disturbs his sleep. He struggles in vain against the grip of terrible nightmares. And my poor master can do nothing for him! It brings him such grief to watch his father waste away." A horrible thought suddenly occurred to Harry.

"Wait, Gamby, are you going to have to punish yourself for telling me this?" Memories of Dobby's self-inflicted punishments flashed before his eyes.

"Gamby does not think so. Master Malfoy has not forbidden Gamby to speak of such things, so Gamby has done nothing wrong."

"Good, good. We'll be going now," Harry said.

"We will?" Ron queried.

"Yes. But Gamby, could you tell Mr. Malfoy that we wanted to speak with him?" Gamby smiled, and jumped up and down with excitement.

"Master Malfoy will be delighted to know that the famous Harry Potter wishes to speak with him!"

"Somehow I doubt that," Ron said. "Thanks Gamby."

With no other leads to follow, the two wizards returned to the Auror Office.

"Well, that was a bloody waste of time," Ron said scowling...a scowl that deepened when he realized that Harry wasn't really paying attention to him.

"I wonder what's wrong with Lucius," Harry said to himself.

"Maybe he's just getting old," Ron said dismissively, collapsing into a halfway-comfortable chair while Harry continued to pace. "Or maybe Malfoy's poisoning him. Wouldn't that be something?" he chuckled.

"Or maybe he's the new host," Harry said, coming to a stop in front of Ron, who looked up at him incredulously. "Think about it: if you were a Death Eater, wouldn't you prefer a pure-blooded host? Stubbs was a pure-blood. And a mysterious illness..."

"You're right!" Ron burst out, jumping up from the chair. "If he's dying, it could be because of the side-effects of possession! I mean, the bugger's not the youngest guy anyways, and with the life-shortening effects of possession..."

"But it doesn't help us all that much," Harry cut him off. "Even if he is being possessed, it doesn't get us any closer to finding the Horcrux. Voldemort certainly didn't keep his with him."

"But it's a start, isn't it?" Harry pondered this for a moment.

"Either way, we have to get inside Malfoy Manor. I'll need to take a look at Lucius to see if he's possessed or not, and if Malfoy's collecting Death Eater memorabilia, it's possible that he's managed to get his hands on the Horcrux."

"Maybe that's why the disembodied soul chose Lucius," Hermione said. Yes, Hermione. The two wizards spun to face the door, realizing only then that Hermione Granger (Ron's wife and Harry's old friend) was standing in the doorway to Harry's office. "You left the door open," she told him, "so I let myself in." She went over to Ron, kissing him on the cheek before sitting down on a chair beside him.

"You're welcome here any time, you know that," Harry reminded her with a smile. "So what were you saying?"

"Just an idea. It's possible that the detached soul was drawn to its other half. That might add to the possibility of the Horcrux being at Malfoy Manor," she said. "Whoever made it probably knew Lucius in life."

"I bet it's a bloke," Ron commented. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What? The two victims were both male. If it were me, I'd want bodies that were...you know, the same as what I was used to."

"Good point," Harry said, actually impressed with the insight that he had missed. "In any case, I think we're all in agreement about one thing: we've got to get inside Malfoy Manor."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "but how?" No one spoke even a single suggestion for a very long minute.

By amazing coincidence, however, their answer came to them at that very moment, in the form of a small paper airplane that flew through the open door, and nearly poked Ron in the eye.

"Ouch!" He grabbed the airplane, rubbing his eye in irritation, and handed it to Harry. "Your office, it should be for you." Harry opened the airplane, and read the short memo written on it aloud.

"To Harry Potter, Auror Office. There is a call coming in for you. Please activate your fireplace." Harry pointed his wand at the lifeless hearth. "_Incendio_!" Bright flickering flames appeared instantly, and soon turned green as a rather sour-looking head appeared within them. Hermione closed the office door with a flick of her wand. "Yes?" Harry questioned the man, whom he had never seen before.

"I bring a message from my employer, Mr. Malfoy. He requests your company at dinner tonight at six o'clock sharp," the man said rather stiffly.

"Requests our presence?" Ron said in disbelief. "He's got some nerve! As if was his own bloody idea..."

"Not you, Mr. Weasley," the man said. His mouth pursed as he said the name, as if the words left a bitter taste on his tongue. "Mr. Malfoy wishes to dine with Mr. Potter...and _only_ Mr. Potter."

"Well he can forget about that!" Ron shot back. "I'm the Deputy Head of the Auror Office!"

"So?" the obnoxious man in the fireplace said. "This is not an official matter. Mr. Malfoy simply wishes to dine with his old friend. I doubt that a contingent of Aurors is necessary." Ron was clearly about to fire back, but Hermione shot him a look, and he reluctantly yielded the floor to her.

"Well, it's so lucky then that you got through to all of us!" she said, putting on a great show of delight. "Draco will be so happy if we show up as well! We were such great friends..." She trailed off, realizing that the standoffish messenger was not buying her act at all.

Throughout this, Harry remained silent, weighing his options. He certainly didn't want to take Ron to dinner with Malfoy, and Hermione, being Muggle-born, would probably have a very unpleasant time; Malfoy would see to that. And, of course, there was the fact that Hermione had been brutally tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange the last time she'd set foot inside Malfoy Manor. On the other hand, he mused, he would likely have no opportunity to search the Manor if he went alone. If Ron and Hermione accompanied him, one of them could make some excuse to leave the table and look for the Horcrux. Finally, he spoke, knowing that his word would be final.

"I'm not going without them." The messenger scowled, muttered something about informing Malfoy, and disappeared.

"What does Malfoy want with us?" Ron wondered.

"I guess we'll find out at six," Harry said, sounding distant and lost in his own thoughts.

When six o'clock finally rolled around, the trio arrived at Malfoy Manor, dressed as fancily as possible in order to avoid Malfoy's scorn. They were escorted inside by a butler with as sour an expression as the messenger, and Harry found himself wondering whether Malfoy employed anyone with the ability to smile. Once inside, he couldn't help but marvel at how _bright_ the place seemed. The shadow of Voldemort seemed to have been banished from the house, an observation that made Harry significantly more optimistic about the outcome of this evening.

Malfoy, always dressed to impress, joined them shortly in the massive and ornately-decorated dining room, accompanied by his wife Astoria. The attractive but icy-looking woman was new to Ron and Hermione, but Harry had met her previously. In fact, he had been introduced to her at her wedding, which he had attended in order to publicly show that his feud with Malfoy was over. Everyone exchanged pleasantries, but Ron and Malfoy did not shake hands, and eyed one another with poorly-disguised contempt. _That_ feud was clearly far from over.

When Malfoy invited them to sit down, Harry noticed that, curiously enough, he did not take the seat at the head of the table. Interpreting this as either a courteous invitation or a bizarre challenge, Harry took the seat himself. Malfoy looked at him with a strange but intense expression that Harry could not read at first...but then, he realized that he was sitting where Voldemort would have sat when he occupied the house. For reasons he couldn't even explain to himself, this thought was so repulsive to him that he vacated the seat, and instead took the seat directly across from Malfoy. He suspected that the head of the table would be empty forever, and it occurred to him that, at last, he had something in common with his old enemy: just as Harry's body and soul had been tainted by Voldemort, so had Malfoy's home. No wonder he lit so many candles to banish the darkness.

Food arrived shortly, and as with everything else in the Manor, it was fancy, fine, and very good. Ron immediately began stuffing his face, much to Malfoy and Hermione's disgust, but Harry found the idea of Ron being well-fed on Malfoy's affluence rather amusing. Hermione was hesitant to eat, knowing that the food was the product of house elf slave labour, but the scent of the food was just too tantalizing for her to resists for long. Throughout the meal, Hermione chatted happily with Astoria; the two seemed to be old friends after only a few minutes, and this did much to reduce the awkwardness of the meal.

Once everyone had eaten their fill...even Ron...Malfoy and Harry retired to an upstairs study, while Astoria took Ron and Hermione into a fancy sitting room. Harry hoped that one of them would get the chance to take their leave and search the Manor, but Astoria did not seem like the type to be easily fooled. The study, like the other rooms in the house, was well-lit, and the walls were covered with bookshelves...odd, Harry mused, as neither Draco nor his father were renowned as bibliophiles. Perhaps there was more to the Malfoy family than met the eye.

"I know why you're here," Malfoy finally said.

"Oh, really? Why's that?" Harry countered. Malfoy smirked knowingly, and Harry got the sudden feeling that he was staring down his teenage nemesis before a Quidditch game once more.

"You're looking for the Horcrux." Harry was taken aback, and Malfoy seemed to enjoy the sight. "Come on, I read the papers, Potter. I know all about your investigation, and I know the signs of possession...or rather," he said with a smirk, "my friends at St. Mungo's do. And besides, I got a rather agitated letter from Mr. Borgin earlier today. When he told me you were asking about Death Eater memorabilia, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you came here. I'll save you the trouble of an interrogation though; I don't have what you're looking for. In fact, I don't know anything at all about this affair besides what my sources tell me."

"You don't think that there could be a Horcrux here without your knowledge?" Harry questioned him.

"I am a fairly competent wizard, you know," Malfoy reminded him. "If there were a Horcrux in my house, I would know about it."

"All right," Harry conceded. There was a momentary pause while Harry considered his next move. "What if I told you that the unbound soul responsible for the death of Stubbs was still out there?"

"That goes without saying," Malfoy replied. Harry hesitated again; he didn't like where he had to take this.

"And it would also go without saying that the soul probably belonged to a Death Eater, yes? One who learned about Horcruxes from Voldemort?"

"That would be the most likely possibility," Malfoy agreed.

"I have a theory," Harry said, "that the individual in question has a preference for pure-blooded hosts. It would be in line with Death Eater philosophies."

"Are you telling me to watch my back?" Malfoy chuckled. But both of them knew that this was not at all what Harry was saying.

"I understand that your father is quite ill," Harry said, knowing that once the words left his mouth, there was no taking them back. And judging by the darkness that came over Malfoy's face, any chance at an alliance with Malfoy might have been lost in that moment.

"I don't like what you're implying, Potter," Malfoy said.

"You can't deny –" Harry began, but Malfoy cut him off.

"I can deny whatever I like!" Malfoy snapped. "My father is _not_ possessed! He's just...he's very sick. It happens, you know! He hasn't been himself since my mother died..." He stopped talking abruptly, probably uncomfortable with the amount of information he was giving out. Harry pressed on with his attack.

"I know the physical signs of possession. If I could take a look at him..."

"No! The healers were very clear: he's not to have any visitors but immediate family!"

"Malfoy, you can't even begin to imagine how important this is! You've got to let me take a look at your father." But Malfoy would not budge.

"If the best healers at St. Mungo's haven't told me he's possessed, then why should I take your word for it?" He bit his lip, and for a fleeting second, vulnerability crept into his eyes. "My father is dying, Potter. Let him die in peace."

There wasn't much to be said after that. The trio departed shortly after, and Harry learned that, while Ron and Hermione's impressions of Astoria had been mostly favourable, she had allowed them no opportunities to sneak away and search the house. They returned to their various offices at the Ministry, leaving Harry with nothing to do but sift through case files, his mind still at Malfoy Manor. And that's where he was when Professor McGonagall's head appeared in his fireplace, informing him that Teddy Lupin, his godson, was missing. Taking only a moment to grab Ron, Harry was at Hogwarts in seconds via Floo.

McGonagall was sitting in her office, wearing an expression of deep concern that did not fade when the two Aurors (and former students of hers) arrived in her fireplace.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, although I wish your visit was under better circumstances," she said.

"What happened?" Harry demanded, not even bothering with a greeting.

"I'll tell you everything we know in just a moment. Andromeda is on her way." And, as soon as Ron had sat down (Harry, as usual, was pacing frantically), Andromeda Tonks, Teddy's grandmother and guardian, stepped out of the fireplace.

"What's happened? What's happened to Teddy?" she demanded, panic lacing her voice.

"Please sit down Andromeda, and try to stay calm," McGonagall said soothingly, but Harry could easily detect the worry in her voice. "I just need to...Severus, could you go fetch the Le Fanu girl?" Harry's eyes were drawn to the row of portraits that hung on the wall, each depicting a former Headmaster of Hogwarts...even Severus Snape, whose tenure was quite brief, as he had been killed by Voldemort before he had headed Hogwarts for even one full year.

"Certainly," Snape's portrait said. He regarded Harry with a look that might have been pride...might have been...and walked out of the portrait.

"Where's he going?" Ron asked.

"It turns out that they're not just limited to portraits," McGonagall told him. "Apparently, they can also move between Chocolate Frog cards."

"It was my idea, actually." Harry and Ron turned to look at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, where the voice had originated, but he appeared to be fast asleep in his armchair. Only the faintest hint of a smile on his painted face indicated that he was only pretending. Minutes passed, and Snape did not return; Andromeda had begun to wring her hands in anxiety, and Harry continued to pace. But eventually, Snape reappeared in his portrait, and moments later, a young girl who looked about fifteen walked into the room.

"This is Carmilla," McGonagall introduced her. "She transferred here from Durmstrang." She then turned to Carmilla. "Just tell them what you told me." Carmilla walked into the centre of the room, undoubtedly painfully aware of all the eyes on her. Strangely enough, she showed no surprise at the sight of Harry, and did not seem intimidated at all...a welcome change for him.

"I was in the Ravenclaw common room this evening," she began. "It was just starting to get dark. It was just lucky really; I was looking out the window when I saw Teddy Lupin, running away from the school. And I thought that was a bit odd, so I kept watching, and I saw him go past Hagrid's hut and into the Forbidden Forest."

"How do you know it was Teddy?" Andromeda questioned.

"His hair was electric blue at the time," Carmilla replied dryly. For those who are unaware, Teddy Lupin was a Metamorphmagus: a wizard who could change his appearance at will.

"Wait..." Harry said suspiciously. "How could you possibly identify Teddy from the window of the Ravenclaw Tower? There's no way you could see that far!" McGonagall gave Harry a strange look, but then nodded.

"Right, of course..." she muttered. "You'll have to take my word for it, Mr. Potter, but Miss Le Fanu's testimony is quite reliable." Harry raised an eyebrow, but left it at that. "Go on," she told the strange girl.

"Well..." Carmilla continued. "I was a little worried, so I grabbed a couple of the first-year Gryffindors and asked them about it. Everybody knows _about_ him, but no one really _knows _him...well, aside from who his parents are. Apparently he's already a minor celebrity...but then, he is the son of Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin, so that was to be expected," she mused. Harry's trained eyes caught Andromeda's slight flinch at the mention of Lupin's name. Odd...

"Did they know anything about why he ran away?" Harry asked, although a sinking feeling was settling into his stomach; he had a feeling that he knew what had gone wrong, and Andromeda's shifting eyes seemed to confirm his theory.

"Sort of," Carmilla said cautiously. "I mean...they didn't exactly come out and say it, but they knew. They knew what set him off."

"Which was...what?" Ron asked, clearly unaware that he was the only one in the room now who didn't know the answer.

"As soon as he got here," Carmilla said, "everyone wanted to talk to him about his famous parents. Especially his father." It was another couple of heartbeats before realization dawned on Ron.

"Bloody hell..." he said, turning to Andromeda. "You never told him, did you?"

"What were you thinking?" Harry demanded, rounding on her. "How could you not tell him? How long did you think you could lie to him?"

"Damn it!" she snapped back. "How was I supposed to tell a child that his father was a werewolf?" Her hands began to shake as she spoke. "He was always so young...too young. Too young to understand."

"You should have at least told him before he came here!" Harry insisted. "Finding out from his classmates...that's the worst possible way..." The proud woman seemed to shrink into her chair when faced with Harry's accusations.

"I...I wanted to tell him before he left," she said quietly. "But...I knew he would be so angry with me. You know, for not telling him sooner. But he was so young! How could I burden him like that? He's only a child!"

Harry took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down. He was still furious with Andromeda for her glaring lapse in judgement, but he knew he was being somewhat hypocritical. How many times in his own childhood had he wished to be free of his own burdens, his own dark past? His altercation with Andromeda had left an awkward silence in its wake, and eventually it was Carmilla who broke it, providing the final piece in the puzzle.

"It's the full moon tonight, isn't it? That's why he ran away. He thinks he's a werewolf like his father."

"But he's not!" Andromeda cried. "He's not!"

"Yes, but _he_ doesn't know that!" Harry pointed out, still angry with Andromeda for unintentionally causing this crisis.

"The Forbidden Forest is no place for a first-year," Ron said, stating the obvious in a worried voice. "Teddy doesn't have a chance in there...we've got to find him, and fast!"

"It's been more than an hour since suppertime," McGonagall said. "We've already lost precious time. You can go now Carmilla. Please don't spread this around." Carmilla left quickly without saying a word. "Now, there isn't any time to waste," she said authoritatively, rising from her chair. "I will gather as many teachers as I can. Potter, Weasley, meet me at Hagrid's hut in fifteen minutes. We'll have to conduct a search of as much of the forest as possible." Despite being over eighty years old, McGonagall still commanded such respect among her former students that neither of them questioned her instructions. "Andromeda, you're welcome to join the search if you feel up to it."

"I'll come," she said, her voice still small and feeble-sounding. "I can't leave him out there. I'll come."

"Very well then," McGonagall said, snatching her pointed hat off her desk and placing it on her head. "Let's get moving then!"

And that, more or less, is the situation we were greeted with when we arrived at Hagrid's hut. Harry briefly outlined the situation for us, which was surprising given that any of the teachers would probably have just told us to go back inside. However, we could instantly spot a glaring flaw in their plan.

"You'll never be able to cover the entire forest with ten people!" Gordon told them. "Not fast enough anyways."

"Yeah! Let us help!" Amanda offered. McGonagall stepped forwards, regarding us suspiciously.

"Miss Watson, I do not believe that four fifth-year students will dramatically increase our chances of finding Lupin."

"Well...any more eyes we can get in the forest can't hurt," Ron pointed out.

"And besides," I jumped in, "we can handle the forest, especially after third year." McGonagall and Slughorn visibly winced; they didn't like to be reminded of that little fiasco. Suddenly, Harry spoke up excitedly.

"You're right; _four_ students won't be much help...so let's get more!" He turned to us. "Can you four go and get as many other students as you can? Fourth-years and up, the younger ones aren't experienced enough...get as many other students as you can, and bring them back here."

"We'll organize them into search parties," Slughorn jumped in, "pair up the younger students with older, more experienced ones."

"You're suggesting that we solve our lost student problem by getting the remaining ones lost in the forest en masse?" McGonagall said sceptically.

"Sounds like a good idea to me!" Professor McLaughlin laughed. "But no, in all seriousness it would greatly increase our efficiency. Frankly, I don't think we have any real chance of finding the boy without help." After a moment of consideration, McGonagall nodded her approval.

"Go," she instructed us. "And come back as quickly as possible. The boy's been in there for an hour already. We can't afford to waste any more time."

We were unaware, of course, that throughout this entire conversation, we were being watched. No, the Forbidden Forest was no place at all for a first-year.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Monsters in the Dark**

We ran all the way back to the castle, our robes flying behind us like wings. Though I am not proud to admit it, as much as I knew that my primary concern should be the safety of Teddy Lupin, those feelings of concern were overshadowed by the excitement bubbling in my chest. Nothing gives you an adrenaline rush quite like an imminent trip into the Forbidden Forest that could make you a hero...or make you something's dinner.

We reached the castle in a few minutes...too long, I thought. Every second we wasted was a second that Teddy might not have. We nearly ran Filch over as we ran, which might have been a more enjoyable experience under different circumstances.

"I'll take the Gryffindors!" Amanda said, splitting off from us and running down a different corridor.

"Wait! How will you get into the common room?" I called after her.

"Jasmine told me the password!" she yelled back. I kept running with Gordon and Olivia but we split up a few moments later to head for our respective common rooms. After an obnoxiously long climb up the Ravenclaw Tower staircase, I finally reached the door to the common room.

"How do you make one disappear?" the brass knocker said. I groaned; this was no time to be puzzling over riddles! Thankfully, I was able to quiet my racing mind and determine the answer.

"Add a G, and it will be gone," I said. The door swung open, and I charged in, much to the surprise of the students sitting around the common room doing their homework...or finding creative ways to avoid doing their homework. "Okay, who's up for a walk in the Forest?" I asked, loud enough to get everyone's attention...attention that was expressed in quizzical looks. Only Carmilla seemed to know what I was talking about, although I wasn't sure how she could have known about Teddy.

"Oh, what are you on about now Seb?" Phil said, looking up from his Potions textbook.

"One of the first-years ran off into the Forbidden Forest," I explained. "McGonagall wants volunteers for search parties."

"Like hell!" said one boy I didn't recognize. "It's against school rules for students to go into the Forbidden Forest."

"Yes, I believe that's why it's called the _Forbidden_ Forest," Phil replied sardonically.

"Guys, this is serious," Carmilla said, walking over to me and standing by my side, facing our audience. "Isn't anyone going to help?"

"Of course!" Polina said, jumping up from where she was sitting.

"I got nothing better to do," offered Andrew Garside, a large boy with proportionally long black hair. But I could tell that many of the others would need additional convincing.

"Who's the kid?" Phil asked, although I was pretty sure that he was going to join us anyways.

"Teddy Lupin," I told him. This revelation sparked a flurry of protests.

"The _werewolf_?" cried the dissenting boy from before. "I'm not going into the Forest after no bloody werewolf!" Phil and I both sighed in frustration...partially because of his obstinacy, but mainly because of his double negative. A Ravenclaw should have more pride.

"He's _not_ a werewolf!" I shot back. Suddenly, I realized that I'd withheld a key piece of information. "But fine. I guess you won't get to meet Harry Potter after all." I turned as if to leave (although I had no intention of doing so), and smiled when the students started to call for clarification. "Oh, didn't I mention that?" I said, turning back while struggling valiantly to hide my smirk. "Yeah, Harry Potter is here. Lupin's his godson, so he came to help with the search. But if you'd rather stay here and finish your homework..."

When I returned to the posse of teachers outside the forest, I brought half the common room with me.

"Nice turnout," Olivia commented when I returned. "Did you have to tell them that Harry Potter was here?" I chuckled, surveying her own results: she had brought a fair number of Hufflepuffs with her, including Tim Matlock and Roger Lyons, two somewhat legendary Quidditch players, as well as my friends Tim Gladstone, Paul Sebastian, and David Silverthorne. There were several others whom I did not recognize, presumably from other years. Amanda had already returned with a large company of Gryffindors which included most of the Quidditch team. I was also pleased to see that she had brought Zoubin Irani, the seventh-year Head Boy, who was widely regarded as one of the most talented wizards currently at Hogwarts.

Almost all of the students we had recruited either rushed over to gawk at Harry or "discreetly" eyeballed him from a distance. I couldn't exactly blame them, but we did have a job to do after all. Thankfully, we'd all had the sense to not bring any of the particularly young students. The Forbidden Forest was no place for first-years.

I grew increasingly restless as the minutes passed with no sign of Gordon or any other Slytherins, but eventually he did appear...with Mitchell. Just Mitchell.

"Is this really all you could get?" I asked incredulously. If Mitchell was offended by me referring to him as "this," then he didn't show it. But then, he wasn't a particularly emotional guy. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Yes, as a matter of fact he _was_ all I could get. Everyone else is having a party that I'm apparently not invited to, although I'm pretty sure that I _planned_ the damn thing last night!"

"And you didn't invite yourself?"

"Oh...right..." he said thoughtfully. Nearby, Kenneth muttered something like "typical Slytherins," and I could tell from the look on Gordon's face that there was going to be trouble.

"You got something to say, Davies?" he challenged him.

"Maybe I do," was the sneering reply.

"Well why don't you come over here and say it to my face then!" Gordon shot back as he stepped forwards.

"Well maybe I will!" I grabbed the back of Gordon's robes.

"Not now!" I hissed. Across from me, Brock was saying something similar to Kenneth, and after a moment of indecision, Kenneth went back to his friends.

"I'm gonna get him," Gordon growled. "One of these days..."

"We have a job to do, remember?" I snapped. Seeing that all of us had returned, McGonagall struggled to call the large and disjointed group to order.

"All right, all right, everyone settle down!" It took a minute, but eventually there was silence. "Now, just so that everyone is on the same page, we are looking for a first year named Teddy Lupin. He ran off into the forest over an hour ago, and we have no idea where he is at the moment. We'll be able to cover more ground with more people, and that's why you're here. You'll be split into groups of three or four, led either by a teacher or an older student. As I'm sure you all know, the forest is highly dangerous. Do not approach or disturb any creature that you come across. Keep calm and have your wands at the ready."

"What are we supposed to do if we find him?" Polina asked.

"You will use these," McGonagall replied. With a wave of her wand, she conjured a jar of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans. Needless to say, none of us seemed to think that this properly answered the question. "Each of you will take one of these beans. I've enchanted them; they're portkeys that will be triggered once you put them in your mouth. When you find the boy, simply get a hold of him and eat the bean. You'll be immediately transported back to this spot. They should also be used if you find yourselves in danger."

"I've never heard of a portkey that worked like that," I whispered to Gordon.

"I'm pretty sure setting up portkeys without Ministry authorization is illegal," he whispered back. I looked back to McGonagall, who was wrapping up her briefing.

"Remember that the forest is extremely dangerous. Do not take any unnecessary risks, and keep your wits about you. Now, let's bring Lupin home. Form groups of three or four!"

There was much noise and movement as the crowd of students quickly tried to organize themselves according to her instructions. I didn't have much difficulty myself; Gordon and Phil each grabbed one of my arms (much to my annoyance), and Zoubin walked over to us a moment later, completing the group. I looked around at the others, who had more or less managed to form groups, although there were still some stragglers.

"All right, all right, everyone quiet down!" McGonagall called out. "Fisher, go with Miss Watson and Miss Chamberlain. Mr. Nu...Mr. Nyu...Mitchell, join up with Miss Cadger and Miss Noyes. No Mr. Miller, you cannot make the entire Quidditch team one group!" I fidgeted restlessly; we were wasting precious time. "Good, are we ready then?" McGonagall finally said. "Right then, let's get moving!" Harry and Ron were the first to depart, with Hagrid and his enormous bloodhound following close behind.

"I'll see wha' I can do 'bout the centaurs helpin' out," he called back to McGonagall as he walked. "An' I'll tell Grawp to watch where he's steppin'." The groups started to follow him, one or two at a time, accompanied by a teacher or two.

"Try not to die," Paul advised me as he moved off with David, Tim G, and Andrew.

"Five galleons says we find him first!" Tim M called out loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You're on!" Gordon replied. "Come on," he said to us in a quieter voice, "I really don't wanna give him five galleons..."

The groups began to split up once inside the forest proper. Zoubin arbitrarily pointed left, and so left we went, lighting our wands to compensate for the oppressive dark of the forest.

"Hey, are you gonna start up the Model Ministry Club again this year?" Gordon asked Zoubin after a few minutes of silence.

"If I can get Professor Leece to supervise, then yeah, I'm hoping so," he replied. "Wanna help?"

"Help?"

"Well, I'd need a co-president," he explained. Gordon's eyes lit up for a brief instant before he returned to his normal apathetic expression.

"Sure, sounds cool," he replied, trying to hide his pleasure. "Seb, Phil, you'll join, right?"

"I probably won't have time," Phil told him. "And for that matter, how will _you_ have the time? We've got OWLs this year, remember?"

"So?" Gordon shot back. "Zoubin has NEWTs, and he's still got time for this and a million other things!"

"That's because Zoubin is amazing," Zoubin said with a grin.

"Keep it down guys!" I hissed. "Something will hear us!"

"Don't we want Teddy to hear us?" Phil pointed out.

"Yeah, but the forest is full of stuff we _don't_ want to hear us," I reminded him.

"He's right," Gordon said, much to my surprise. "We don't want, like, the Acromantulas or whatever to hear us."

"Acromantulas?" I asked, abruptly stopping.

"Yeah, you didn't know? There's a whole colony of giant spiders that lives in the forest. Hagrid brought them in years ago. I wouldn't worry though; I heard they don't bother you if you don't bother them. Usually." We walked on.

The trek through the forest was made distinctly less pleasant by Gordon's revelation; every time the leaves rustled or a twig snapped, my heart couldn't help but skip a beat as I envisioned a massive hairy spider crawling towards me, pincers clacking... Beyond that, it was becoming uncomfortably cold, and I found myself wishing I'd worn something besides my uniform. All conversation between the four of us had faded to silence before we'd spent half an hour searching. By now, Teddy had been in the forest for over three hours.

Suddenly, Gordon spun around.

"_Stupefy!_" A red jet of light shot from his want into the trees, passing so close to my head that I could feel it tingle like a faint electric current. It was only _afterwards_ that I realized that I should probably duck, which I promptly did.

"What the hell was that?" I barked. "You nearly hit me you idiot!"

"I saw something," he said, walking past me and waving his illuminated wand at the darkness. "At least...I think I did..."

"There's nothing there you moron!" I snapped. "If there was, you either scared it off or made it mad!"

"Shut up Seb," he said offhandedly, moving a branch aside to continue his search for the Amazingly-Incredible-Absolutely-Nothing. I was seriously considering hexing him when Phil went over to join him.

"I definitely heard something move," he said.

"Oh come on, I've been hearing things move all night!" I protested. "We're in the _Forbidden Forest_! We're wasting time!"

"Seb, calm down," Zoubin said. "_Homenum Revelio!_" Nothing happened that I could see. "Huh...well, there aren't any _people_ around..."

"But that doesn't mean there isn't an animal or something," Phil pointed out.

"I know," Zoubin replied. "Something could be stalking us. But...if it was an animal, or even a pack of animals, we would've been attacked by now. We may as well keep moving." And we did.

"It's gonna suck when we find out that they already found him, and then they just left us in here," Gordon muttered as we walked. "Why did the stupid kid come in here anyways?"

"He's Teddy _Lupin_," I reminded him. "The other first-years probably told him he was a werewolf. It's a full moon tonight, so he ran in here 'cause he was scared he would hurt someone."

"But...he's _not_ a werewolf, right?" Gordon asked. I sighed.

"No, he's not a werewolf. Why, are you scared?"

"Of course not!" Then, I heard a twig snap. All four of us turned to the right, where the sound had originated.

"Am I still imagining things?" Gordon said smugly. Zoubin walked ahead cautiously, wand out in front of him. Suddenly, he stopped, and reached out his hand. There was a loud snort that seemed to come from thin air, and he backed away quickly.

"Thestrals," he said. "At least one or two, maybe more."

"I don't see anything," Gordon said quizzically.

"They're invisible unless you've seen death," Phil told him. "And...last I checked, they were also carnivorous."

"Yeah, but they don't normally attack humans," Zoubin said. "We just need to get out of here without disturbing them." I turned to walk in the other direction away from the invisible Thestral...and smacked my face into something warm and fleshy. The second Thestral gave a shrieking cry, and I backed up, nearly falling over as I did.

"Definitely more than one!" I said, stating the obvious. The strange calls were coming from all around us now. "We're surrounded!"

"Just stay calm!" Zoubin instructed.

"Stay calm? We're surrounded by invisible carnivorous flying horses!" Gordon protested.

"Yes, that really does give a sense of perspective," Phil commented airily. I moved my wand, futilely trying to find some angle of lighting that would reveal the Thestrals, even though I knew this was pointless. However, my efforts did yield one result: I caught a glimpse of something moving through the trees.

"Hey! Do you guys see that?" I said, gesturing with my wand.

"Oh, very funny," Phil said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes.

"No, that thing over there, in the trees. What is that?" Zoubin peered into the darkness while keeping his distance from where we suspected the nearest Thestral was.

"You know...it kind of looks like..." he began...but he had no need to finish. As it seemed to float towards us, I began to feel as if my blood had turned to ice. My chest constricted, and I could hear my father's angry voice ringing in my ears.

"Dementor!" I cried, raising my wand. But we had no time to panic, for the Thestrals had decided to panic for us. Shrieking wildly, the herd began to flee in all directions from the approaching Dementor, placing us in the rather unpleasant position of being in the middle of an invisible stampede!

"Move!" Zoubin roared, and we scattered, desperately trying both to avoid the invisible beasts that surrounded us and to keep our wits about us while our worst memories played in our minds. Phil's head jerked backwards for no apparent reason, and a cut appeared on his cheek as he ran. Turning my head, I saw Gordon collide with thin air (presumably a Thestral) and fall backwards. Running towards him, I felt myself slam into another one, and fell to the ground, where I lay dazed for one chaotic moment. Realizing that I would likely be trampled if stayed down, I jumped to my feet. Gordon was nowhere to be seen.

"Gordon!" I called out, getting no answer. I looked around me; I was alone. "Phil! Zoubin!" No answer came. "Guys, where are you?" I didn't see the Dementor either, but I still felt horribly cold inside. It was close. I noticed that my wand had gone out, and relit it...and saw a small boy with jet-black hair illuminated in its light. I jumped slightly, before determining that the terrified-looking child probably wasn't particularly dangerous.

"Teddy?" I asked. "Teddy Lupin?" It was only after I'd asked that I realized how stupid a question this was; how many eleven-year-old kids could there possibly be running around in the forest in the middle of the night? "It's okay," I told him, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"The monster," he said quietly. "The monster..."

"The Dementor?"

"Not a Dementor," he said fearfully. "That's not a Dementor. It looks like one, but it's not."

"Listen," I said, moving closer to him, "I've got to get you out of here. I've got a portkey..." I fished around in my pocket for the bean...and found nothing. "Oh bloody hell, I must've dropped it when the Thestrals..." Well, _that_ wasn't good. I knew I'd never be able to retrace my steps; we'd been counting on the portkeys to get us out, and therefore hadn't bothered to mark our trail through the forest.

"This isn't much of a rescue," Teddy muttered, clearly having regained his composure. I would've replied (or possibly smacked him) if he hadn't been so horribly right.

"Just...hold on, I'll think of something."

"Why don't you just summon it?" he asked. I was beginning to wonder who was rescuing who here.

"That is an excellent idea," I groaned, feeling incredibly stupid...but hey, I'd just been trampled by a herd of Thestrals! I raised my wand.

"_Accio..._" I began, but I trailed off as the sinking cold feeling became even more overpowering, and the Dementor re-entered my field of vision. Specifically, it would be on top of us in about five seconds. "Oh shi –"

I fell backwards as the Dementor loomed over me like some horrible shadow. I felt like my heart had leapt into my throat, and it was pounding so hard that I might have choked on it. The horrible scent of decay filled my nostrils, and the Dementor reached out its hand...wait. The scent of decay? Dementors didn't smell like that! And the hand reaching out to me may have been horrible and corpse-like, but it was unquestionably a _human_ hand!

"_Confringo!_" I yelled, blasting the not-Dementor with the first curse that came to mind. There was a horrible cracking sound, like a bone breaking, and the thing's back bent backwards at a sharp angle. As it did, its hood fell back, revealing a human face...but the most horrifying face I had ever seen. The thing looked human, but its skin was marbled in shades of grey and blue. It had empty sockets where its eyes should be, and its lower jaw was completely bare, devoid of any flesh. Teddy was screaming, and I think I was too. I think this may have been what saved us.

As the thing reached out its horrible hand towards my face again, I heard Gordon's voice ring out.

"_Incendio!_" The thing's black cloak burst into flames. With a hideous shriek, it retreated, and flew away into the darkness incredibly fast. Within seconds, the light of the fire had completely faded from view, but it took a lot longer than that for me to catch my breath.

"Whoa, you okay Seb?" Phil asked helping me to my feet.

"What the bloody hell was that thing?" Gordon questioned me. "That was _not_ a Dementor!"

"I...I don't know," I panted, trying to catch my breath. "I've never seen anything like it before." I noticed that Teddy had grabbed onto my arm. His face betrayed no trace of fear, but I could feel his body trembling.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. I forced a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine. Where'd you guys go? What happened?"

"We ran, mate," Gordon laughed. "We didn't realize you weren't with us until we stopped. By then, we were totally lost."

"We tried to head back in the direction we'd come from," Phil said, picking up the story. "We were hoping you'd still be around. Then we heard screaming, so we started running in the direction it was coming from."

"Then we found you with that thing on top of you," Zoubin said.

"And I did the first thing that came to mind," Gordon said with a grin.

"_That_ was the first thing that came to mind?" I asked incredulously. Although, admittedly, I wasn't all that surprised.

"I see you found Teddy," Zoubin commented.

"Actually, he found me!" I replied. "Guys, I dropped my bean. We'll have to use one of yours to get back."

"No problem," Zoubin said, holding out his arm. I grabbed his wrist, making sure that Teddy was still holding on to me, while Gordon and Phil each put their hands on his shoulders. "Hold on tight boys," he said, popping the bean in his mouth. I felt a sudden hook from behind, and it seemed that I had been yanked backwards off my feet. Then, suddenly, I was dropped on my back, and I could see the night sky as I looked up. We were back.

The first thing I noticed was the sound of coughing and choking. I jumped to my feet, and noticed Zoubin clutching at his throat. From out of the corner of my eye, I saw Professor McGonagall rushing over. She pointed her wand at Zoubin, and muttered something I didn't hear. The bean shot out of his mouth, and flew past my head. Once again, it was only afterwards that I realized that I should have ducked.

"Bit of a design flaw there Professor," Zoubin commented once he had stopped coughing.

"Yes, it would appear so," she said. "Are you all right Mr. Lupin?" she asked Teddy, who looked down at his feet, unable to meet her eyes. "Very well, we'll talk later. Right now, let's get everyone back." She took the jar of beans out of her robe, and took the last remaining bean between her fingers. She lightly blew on it, and suddenly students and teachers were materializing all around us.

"Wait, Professor!" I said as she turned to walk away. "There's something in the forest!" But by now, there was so much noise from the crowd of students that she was prevented from hearing me.

"Just tell her tomorrow," Phil suggested.

Once the initial confusion had faded, most of the attention was diverted our way as people realized that we were the ones who had brought Teddy back.

"You found him?" Olivia asked, running over with Amanda.

"Gosh darn it!" Tim Matlock laughed.

"Yeah, that's five galleons you owe me!" Gordon replied. Suddenly, Harry and Ron appeared before us, eager to see if Teddy was okay. The two Aurors took him away with them, although he looked back at us and mouthed "Thank you," as they walked. Eventually, McGonagall managed to restore order.

"Yes, yes, thank you to everyone who came to help tonight! I am pleased to announce that, as I'm sure you have learned, Teddy Lupin has been found and safely returned to us. And there is more good news! Each of you has earned your house five points!" There was a long cheer in response to this news, although Gordon looked a lot less happy; Slytherin would have only acquired ten points. "Now, everyone had best head back to your common rooms, and get to bed straight away! Tomorrow is, after all a normal school day. Now, on with it!" As the conversational buzz returned, we all began to migrate back to the castle. I managed to catch one last glimpse of Teddy though; he was still with Harry and Ron, who were speaking with McGonagall and some of the other teachers. Next to me, Gordon was complaining loudly.

"...and they didn't even mention that we were the ones who found him! We should've gotten extra points! Or at least some kind of recognition!" The tirade did not end there; I found it prudent to simply nod and offer the occasional word or two of agreement, as this saved me from actually having to listen to him.

Back outside, Teddy and McGonagall were being ushered into Hagrid's hut for a warming cup of tea. Harry lingered outside, saying that he would join the others in a moment. Once he was alone, he reached into his pocket, and took out a small Chocolate Frog card, adorned with a picture of Albus Dumbledore.

"Good evening Harry," the picture said.

"Hello Professor," Harry replied with a smile. "I need to ask you something."

"I gathered as much. People generally do not talk to trading cards unless it is an extremely important matter." Harry smiled, but it was a fleeting smile that soon faded.

"We got them all, didn't we? The Horcruxes? Voldemort's really dead, isn't he?"

"Oh yes," Dumbledore assured him. "There's no doubt about that."

"And he can never come back?" Harry pressed onwards.

"Come back? No magic can truly resurrect the dead, Harry. You know this better than anyone."

"But there are ways..." Harry began, but Dumbledore cut him off, knowing where his line of thought was headed.

"Such as the Resurrection Stone? It was you who dropped the stone in the forest thirteen years ago, and even with all that time to search, I doubt very much that anyone could have found it. However, I have learned enough to know that it is foolish to dismiss anything as impossible." This wasn't quite the reassuring answer Harry had been hoping for.

"One more thing, Professor."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "the Horcrux. I was wondering when you were going to discuss that matter with me."

"Voldemort didn't tell his followers about his Horcurxes, not even his closest allies, right?" Harry asked, not bothering to ask how the departed professor has known about his case.

"I doubt that he was particularly close with anyone," Dumbledore reminded him dryly. "Not even his allies. I cannot think of a situation that would prompt him to share the secret of his immortality. Unless..." He paused thoughtfully. "Unless one of his Death Eaters discovered the secret on their own, and was too valuable to kill."

"Valuable?" Harry said, puzzled. "Who would he value? Surely he could have replaced just about any of his followers if he needed to."

"Yes, but it's the 'just about' that interests us," Dumbledore said. "Severus Snape, for instance, was irreplaceable. Voldemort would never have acquired another spy so close to me. But...I cannot believe that Severus would have made a Horcrux."

"No," Harry agreed, sadly. "He wasn't afraid of death."

"Indeed. Perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange, or...you know, it occurs to me that the Horcrux could have been made before the Second War. The wizard or witch in question may have been dead long before Voldemort."

"Right," Harry admitted. "We have so little to go on."

"In that case," Dumbledore said, "I suggest you stimulate your brain with some of Hagrid's tea." Smiling at the old headmaster's wisdom, Harry pocketed the card, and went inside to join his friends.

That night, sleep was elusive. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of that horrible thing in the forest returned to haunt me. It took me hours to finally fall asleep, but once I did, my sleep was blissfully dreamless...albeit brief.

For reasons unknown, I awoke suddenly. It took my eyes a second to adjust to the darkened dormitory; it was still either the middle of the night, or the early morning. And Amanda was standing over my bed.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hissed, jerking away from her. "You can't come in here! This is the _boys'_ dormitory Amanda!" Her only response was to roll her eyes.

"I'm not Amanda you idiot," she said. Now _that_ wasn't what I'd expected to hear.

"You're...not?" I said groggily.

"I just figured I'd wake you up. The teachers will be searching the dormitories any minute now."

"What? Why?" I wasn't yet awake enough to fully comprehend how bizarre this entire exchange was, but I was definitely awake enough to find Amanda's...or whoever's...knowing smirk somewhat unnerving.

"It has begun," she whispered with delight.

And begun it had. Although I didn't know it at the time, this had been almost precisely the instant that Filch had discovered the message scrawled on the wall of the Charms corridor. The message was simple: _I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!_

It was written in blood.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Revelations**

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, but before she could answer, I heard hurried footsteps coming up the stairs which seemed to draw her attention.

"Be ready," she advised me, but ready for what? "We'll talk later." And then she vanished before my eyes.

I lay there in complete bewilderment for a few more seconds before Professor McLaughlin arrived in the dormitory. I debated asking her what was going on, but decided that it would be more prudent to just pretend to be asleep. I made sure my head was turned towards her, and left my eyes open a crack. I could barely see, but I could tell that she had her wand out.

_"Homenum Revelio_," she whispered. Checking we were all there? But why? Seeming satisfied, she turned to leave, and on impulse, I sat up.

"Professor?" She spun around, pointing her wand at me...which in my opinion, was a little uncalled for.

"Crane!" she hissed, lowering her wand. "You scared the hell out of me! Why aren't you asleep? It's three in the morning!"

"I heard you when you came in," I said, not so much lying as...enhancing the truth. "What's going on? Did something else happen?" She looked at me strangely for a long moment before answering.

"It's nothing. Don't worry. Get back to sleep." And she left without another word.

Well, that only confirmed that something was _very _wrong. How was I expected to sleep now? The best I could manage for the rest of the night was tossing and turning punctuated by the occasional fatigue-induced state of almost-sleep that lasted only a few minutes at a time. And yes, it was a very long night.

Morning found Harry in his office as usual, but he was finding it impossible to concentrate on the numerous reports covering his desk. His mind was still outside Malfoy Manor, wondering how on earth he was going to get inside. All the facts seemed to point to Lucius Malfoy being host to the disembodied soul, but how the hell could he prove it without inspecting him in person? Malfoy was never going to allow him access to Lucius, that much had been made abundantly clear. So then, he thought, he would have to get inside without Malfoy knowing. He still had the Invisibility Cloak, but the Manor would undoubtedly be shielded against Apparition. Would it be possible (he got up and started to pace) to Apparate just outside the Manor's defences and then break in through non-magical means? He doubted that the Malfoys would have thought to protect their ancestral home from crowbars. Of course, if the Head of the Auror Department were caught breaking into Malfoy Manor, the Daily Prophet would have a field day...to say nothing of _Harry Potter_ being caught...

Suddenly, he saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He reached out and caught the paper airplane with ease; once a Seeker, always a Seeker. He unfolded the airplane and read the cryptically short message written on it.

_My father wants to speak with you._ It was signed Draco Malfoy. He had to stare at the words for at least a minute before he could believe what he was seeing.

Well, _that_ was unexpected. And (he began to pace again) highly suspicious. The odds of being invited by his suspect… It made no sense. Was this an attempt by Lucius to clear his name before he died? Or, on a less pleasant note, was it a ruse by the Dark wizard controlling Lucius, who could easily take the opportunity to kill him. After all, what Death Eater _wouldn't_ want a crack at killing Harry Potter?

This risk could, of course, be mitigated. He could bring a couple of Mad-Eyes with him, or even a few regular Aurors. However, if Lucius _wasn't_ possessed, then bringing a contingent of Aurors to his bedside could easily scare him out of saying anything at all, and while there was no way of knowing exactly what Lucius wanted to say, it was unlikely that a dying man would want to speak with an old enemy unless he wished to say something important. But if he just brought Ron with him…

"No," he said out loud to himself. The note had been for him specifically. Unless…

He went across the hall to Ron's office, which had the dubious distinction of being the only office in the entire Auror Department with a Chudley Cannons poster on the wall. Ron was clicking the lights on and off with his Deluminator, completely ignoring a large stack of papers that rose like a monolith from his desk, but immediately straightened up when he saw Harry standing in his doorway.

"Nice to know _someone_ takes their work seriously around here," Harry said with a smirk.

"Yes, and what brings the illustrious Head of the Auror Office, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, and whatever else they call you these days to my humble office?" Ron responded with equal sincerity.

"Have you gotten any messages today?" Harry asked.

"Messages? You mean owls, airplanes?"

"Any messages at all," he said.

"No, not yet," Ron answered. Well, that confirmed it then: the invitation had been for Harry alone, and while he could not ignore the glaring possibility that he was walking into a vengeful Death Eater's trap, he had an indescribable but inescapable feeling that he _had_ to go alone, that whatever Lucius wanted to say _had_ to be important. But he knew that Ron would never let Harry do this on his own, even if there was only a slight chance that Harry would be in danger. That was just the kind of person he was. So, obviously, if Harry was going to go ahead and accept Lucius' invitation, he couldn't let Ron know what he was doing. But to openly lie to his friend...

He mentally shook himself. He was _not_ a child anymore. It needed to be done, and so it would be. Ron would probably do the same thing if he were in Harry's position. But still... In the end, he opted for a half-truth instead of an outright lie.

"Could you do me a favour?" Harry began.

"Anything for you, mate," Ron said with a smile. "You know that." Understandably, Harry's smile was not as bright.

"Yeah, I know. I need you to go to Gringotts. We won't be able to get into the Malfoy vault, but all the other Death Eaters' vaults are Ministry property. Take some people with you and go through as many vaults as possible."

"What are we looking for?" Ron asked.

"Anything. Anything that might be a Horcrux."

"And what then? Do I just go in and start prodding things with Gryffindor's Sword? See if anything starts screaming?" Both men chuckled.

"No, just confiscate anything that looks interesting and bring it all back to the Auror Office. And...it's not 'we,' Ron, it's you," Harry told him. "I'm not coming along on this one."

"Why not?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"I'm going to go ask the Wizengamot for a warrant to search Malfoy Manor," Harry lied.

"Oh, sounds like loads of fun," Ron groaned.

"Yeah, I figured I'd spare you the trauma. I'll probably be there all day, and even then I probably won't get one."

"I never thought I'd be thanking you for giving me extra work," Ron laughed, getting up to leave and gather his team. "Oh, that reminds me." He summoned the day's issue of the _Daily Prophet_ from his desk. "Guess who made the front page...again?" Harry rolled his eyes; the cover story was about his visit to Hogwarts, illustrated by a moving photograph of him from a couple of years ago, on the occasion of his last visit to his old school.

"Wonderful," he grumbled. "Is it at least a nice article?"

"Oh, the article's lovely," Ron told him, "but you should see the editorial. I think they're trying to convince people that you put your personal life before your job or something."

"They can imply whatever they like," Harry said, but he couldn't help but feel irritated at the _Prophet_'s seemingly endless attempts to sabotage his image. Arcturus Crawley's face appeared in his mind's eye, and he wondered if the ever-troublesome Undersecretary had been leaning on the paper. It was certainly not impossible.

By this time, the Hogwarts school day was already underway. Breakfast was over, class had begun, and absolutely everyone had heard about the message on the wall.

I'd heard about the message on my way downstairs; late to rise, I had been intercepted by Phil, who told me that there was something I had to see. The Charms Corridor was packed with gawking students whose frantic conversations provided a bizarre soundtrack to the spectacle. Thankfully, my height allowed me to see over the mass of students, and as soon as I saw the message, I had no doubt that this is what Amanda...or rather Not-Amanda...had been referring to. It has begun, she had said, but what exactly did this mean?

The vandalized chunk of the wall was encased within the dome of a Shield Charm, probably cast by Professor Chronus, the Transfiguration teacher, who was futilely trying to clear the crowd of students.

"All right everyone, let's get to class!" she yelled, but her voice did not carry. Filch managed to bat away some of the smaller students with a non-magical broom, but the crowd did not disperse until Professor McGonagall arrived, equipped with a Sonorous Charm.

"ALL STUDENTS ARE TO REPORT TO THEIR FIRST PERIOD CLASSES IMMEDIATELY!" Sonorous Charms were hard to argue with, but if the teachers expected that we would simply forget about the strange occurrence and go about our business as usual, they were sorely mistaken. While those teachers who spent the majority of their classes lecturing had a fair degree of success in keeping everyone on topic, those who gave their students any time at all to talk amongst themselves were inevitably faced with a discussion forum on the bloody message. The perfect opportunity for such discussion was Charms, which was being temporarily held in McLaughlin's classroom, as the class was generally so noisy and lively that you could talk all you liked without Professor Spanier noticing...although even if he did notice, he wasn't likely to be very angry at all; in all my years at Hogwarts, I had never once seen him in a bad mood. It also helped that the Ravenclaws shared Charms with the Slytherins, giving me access to Gordon.

"It's a pretty dumb prank if you think about it," he said to Phil, Amanda, and I. "I mean, no one's getting embarrassed or one-upped by it. Sure, people are talking about it, and sure, people are freaking out a little, but I don't know who gets a laugh out of freaking people out like this."

"You'd have to be pretty twisted," Amanda agreed.

"Well, then actually I bet I know who did it," Gordon said. We stared at him quizzically. "Adam! Come on, we all know he's a bloody head case!" Thankfully, Adam was on the other end of the room, and didn't seem to hear this. I looked at him, trying to imagine him doing something like this. It seemed out of character for him; not because Adam wouldn't pull a prank, but because Adam was a pure-blood wizard who was damn proud of that fact. If he was going to pull a prank, it would have been magical in nature, but this could have been done by hand. As I thought this, I noticed that Adam was now staring back with a peculiar smile, and I looked away quickly, tuning back into my friends' conversation. Gordon's theory was still being discussed.

"I guess it's possible..." Amanda said hesitantly, but she didn't seem too convinced. Under normal...okay, _more_ normal...circumstances, I would have been dominating the conversation, but I was preoccupied with trying to figure out how the message was related to Not-Amanda. Was she a simple hallucination, or was something stranger at work? Either way, I wasn't planning on telling anyone about what I was seeing just yet. Not until I had more information.

"What I want to know is if the blood is real or not," Phil said.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Amanda questioned dismissively. Evidently their no-talking agreement had been rescinded in the face of these unusual circumstances.

"Elementary, my dear Watson," he said sardonically. "Oh...I suppose you _are_ Watson...outstanding," he chuckled. "But seriously now, if it's just red dye or something, then it is most likely an odd prank. But if the blood is real..."

"Where did it come from?" I muttered, but evidently my muttering was loud enough for my friends to hear, as they were now all looking to me. "Where did the blood come from? If it's animal blood, then whoever did this is pretty screwed up. I mean, I wouldn't kill an animal just for sake of a prank."

"And if it's human blood..." Gordon began, but didn't finish. That was something that was just too weird and unlikely to discuss.

"But no one's asking the obvious question," Amanda pointed out. There was a pause after her words while we all tried to figure out what she was referring to. When no one offered anything, she spoke out in exasperation. "Who's back?"

Unbeknownst to us, Harry Potter was wrestling with the exact same question. Who was back? Which Death Eater had managed to survive? He could only hope that Lucius Malfoy could give him the answers he sought. Anything else would be a waste of his time.

As soon as he arrived at the manor, he was ushered inside by the sour-faced butler and led upstairs into a large and ornately-furnished bedroom. There was a man lying on the king-sized bed, covered with white sheets; the sound of his laboured breathing seemed to pulsate through the room. Draco Malfoy was sitting beside the bed, regarding his father with a look of utter defeat and exhaustion that Harry could have never imagined seeing on his old rival's face. It was a moment before he looked up at his guest.

"Thank you," Malfoy said to the butler. "Now, leave us, and do not return unless summoned." Bowing, the butler left the room. "You'll have to come closer," Malfoy said. "Father's eyesight is fading." Harry complied, and stood opposite from Malfoy, taking his first look at Lucius in years...or rather, at what was left of him. The man on the bed was unrecognizable as the proud and haughty patriarch of the Malfoy family. He was little more than an emaciated, withered skeleton of a man. Even his hair seemed limp and lifeless. Harry had seen the man after his flight from Azkaban thirteen years ago, but even months with Dementors had not reduced him to such a state.

"Harry...Potter..." Lucius said in a voice no stronger than a whisper. "You came."

"Yes," Harry said. "I'm here."

"Would you like to...inspect the back of...my head?" Lucius said, almost smiling.

"No. You're not possessed," Harry said. He had realized as much as soon as he had seen the man. He wasn't possessed. He was dying.

"No. But I have...something for you. I know what you seek. I have...information."

"What sort of information?" Harry pressed.

"A...story," Lucius said. "One that should have been told a long time ago. One that you need to hear, Mr. Potter. One that...my son needs to hear." Malfoy leaned in closer, looking completely bewildered. "One that Narcissa...oh Narcissa...gone to the grave never knowing..." He suddenly began to cough violently.

"Gamby!" Malfoy cried, and the House-Elf appeared in a flash of light. He stopped only for a brief squeal at the sight of Harry before rushing over to Lucius' bedside, tears in his eyes.

"Oh my poor master!" he wailed. Lucius reached out a gnarled and withered hand, which Gamby took in both of his.

"Gamby...bring water," Lucius instructed. "I have much to say, and my throat feels like sandpaper..." Releasing his hand, Gamby disappeared, reappearing again moments later with a crystal pitcher and a glass, which he set on a bedside table.

"Thank you Gamby," Malfoy said quietly. "Go, and do not return unless I summon you."

"Yes Master," Gamby said quietly, blinking back tears. Instead of vanishing, he walked out of the room, closing the door on his way out. As soon as the three wizards were alone, Malfoy got up and poured his father a glass of water, holding the glass to his lips as he drank.

"Thank you son," Lucius said. "Sit down, both of you. Be comfortable." The two men complied, both sitting on the same side now. "Now, listen...and do not judge me too harshly. My judgement is in the hands of another now."

"Don't talk like that," Malfoy said, but his bitter tone betrayed him. No one had any illusions about Lucius' survival.

"I've come a long way, Lucius," Harry said. "What do you have to tell me?" The was a moment of silence, and Lucius began to speak.

"Nineteen Seventy-Four," he said. "I was engaged...while I was engaged to Narcissa...I...I had an affair..."

"What?" Malfoy blurted out, but Harry honestly wasn't all that surprised. But as for what came next...

"I had an affair with...her sister..." The shock in Harry's mind was painted on Malfoy's face.

"You...you _WHAT_?"

"I'm sorry..." Lucius began, but Malfoy would hear none of it.

"Bel...You..._Bellatrix Lestrange_? And…and Mother died without knowing? How...?" Harry could understand Malfoy's disbelief: out of all of Voldemort's followers, Bellatrix Lestrange had been unquestionably the most deranged and vicious. She had destroyed Neville Longbottom's parents. She had murdered Sirius Black. She had tortured Hermione, and inadvertently killed Dobby the House-Elf as well. Even Dumbledore had been wary of her sadistic psychopathy, opting to die at the hands of Severus Snape instead of Lestrange, who, in the late headmaster's words, had liked to play with her food. Although, Harry thought, perhaps she had been less psychotic in her youth. Then again...probably not.

"We knew it was wrong," Lucius continued, "but we didn't care. We thought we were above consequence. But...our transgression came back to haunt us. Bellatrix soon learned that she was pregnant." Malfoy's jaw dropped wordlessly. "No Draco," Lucius almost chuckled, "I don't mean you. This was long, long before... I couldn't let Narcissa find out what had transpired, but Bellatrix was unmarried. I wanted to...terminate...the problem, but Bellatrix felt that pure-blooded life was sacred, and that it would be obscene to kill a pure-blood child. We decided that it would be prudent for her to...take a holiday. For months, we communicated only by owl. I didn't even know where she was hiding. She only revealed her location to me when the child was born. It was a girl...and a Squib."

"What?" Malfoy burst out. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know. It happens. Despite having two pure-blooded parents, the child had no magical ability whatsoever."

"But you couldn't possibly have known that when the child was just a baby!" Harry pointed out. "It takes years for magical ability to show itself!"

"True," Lucius said. "But there are spells that reveal whether a child is a Squib or not. They are usually performed on newborns by attending Healers; there are similar procedures for diseases and other abnormalities. The child was unquestionably a Squib.

Bellatrix didn't want to keep the girl after that, but I persuaded her not to kill the child. Instead, I took her to a Muggle orphanage...it would be years before I learned the true irony of this."

"Irony?" Malfoy asked. Lucius smiled.

"Yes, it was many years before I learned that the orphanage that I placed my daughter in was the very same orphanage that Tom Riddle once called home." This revelation sent a shiver down Harry's spine: that orphanage had been where the boy who would become Voldemort had first discovered his powers...and how to use them to get what he wanted from the other children. It had been his first taste of cruelty.

While Harry contemplated this, Lucius pressed on with his story.

"I visited my daughter on occasion, although she never learned who I was. However...as time went on, I saw less and less of the girl. I had other concerns...and another child," he said, smiling up at his son.

"Lucius, while I'm certain this would make a fascinating Muggle soap opera, I have better things to do with my time..." Harry began.

"Do you want to find the Horcrux or not?" Lucius interrupted. Harry's eyes widened in shock. How the hell had he known? "Why do you think I called you here? Why do you think I'm telling you this with my last bloody breaths? Bellatrix Lestrange is still out there, and unless you can stop her, she's going to come back more powerful than ever, more powerful than even Lord Voldemort."

His words hung in the air over the two old rivals, and if either had thought to look at the other, they would have seen that they wore identical expressions of shock and horror. Bellatrix Lestrange was not dead. The most psychotic and dangerous Death Eater of all was still out there, with the power to possess the body of any wizard she chose, and then move on to another at any time. Harry's head was spinning, and his attempts to think rationally only accelerated the spin. Tracking her would be impossible. She could be anywhere...any_one_. And...oh God, Harry thought, the first thing she would do was to go after the ones who had destroyed her and her beloved master! And he was at the top of that list! But no...even more horrifyingly, he remembered that it had, in fact, been Molly Weasley who had cast the curse meant to end Bellatrix's life. If she was targeted... And it was only then that it occurred to him that even his and Ron's children would not be safe from Bellatrix's wrath.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. Before Bellatrix could go after anyone, she would need a body. A permanent body of her own, not someone else's. He reached deep into his memory; how had Voldemort done it? What were the required ingredients for his resurrection potion?

"Lucius, where is Bellatrix's father buried?" Harry asked. Lucius smiled.

"After the Dark Lord's downfall...and Bellatrix's supposed death...I had the foresight to have her father's remains exhumed. All the bones of Cygnus Black are currently locked in a crypt below the Manor."

"I don't understand," Malfoy said.

"When Voldemort returned," Harry explained, "he used a potion to give himself a new body. For the potion to work, he had to add three ingredients: flesh from a servant, blood from his enemy, and a bone from his father."

"Then we're safe, aren't we?" Malfoy said. "As long as she can't get at those bones..."

"For the moment," Harry said. "But as long as that Horcrux is out there...wait, how did Bellatrix make a Horcrux anyways? I can't imagine that Voldemort would have taught her how."

"He did not," Lucius said. "We were never supposed to know the secret of his immortality. But Bellatrix learned somehow. I really don't know how she figured it out, but somehow she did." Lucius' story was interrupted by a brief fit of coughing that Malfoy remedied by lifting the glass of water to his father's mouth. After drinking, Lucius continued. "Together...together we learned all we could about Horcuxes, and how to make them. There was very little information, as so little experimentation has been done, but creating one is simple enough. I wasn't interested though. I was still young enough to be unconcerned with death. And Bellatrix wouldn't dream of mocking the Dark Lord by imitating his method. So we did nothing...but the knowledge always lingered in our minds, and with it, the temptation to put that knowledge to use.

Voldemort fell in 1981. I wasn't lying all those years ago when I said that I was constantly on the alert for any sign of the Dark Lord's return; I knew it would only be a matter of time. But Bellatrix was distraught. She thought only of finding Voldemort and returning him to power. But discovering that he could be defeated, if not killed, was a terrible shock for her...and she was determined to make sure that, once he returned, it would never happen again.

My daughter was seven years old, and living with a young Muggle couple..." Harry cut him off.

"Why do you keep bringing your daughter into this? What does she have to do with the Horcrux?" Lucius said nothing, but stared blankly past Harry. As the silence dragged on, a horrifying thought occurred to Harry. "God! No, you can't possibly mean..."

"She tracked down her daughter, and went to her home. She killed the parents, and turned our child into a human Horcrux." This revelation was delivered in a detached monotone that served to make it even more disturbing than it already was. "She said once that, if she had children, she would gladly give them up in service to the Dark Lord. I suppose she felt that this was the best she could do."

"But Father, if you knew this, why the hell did you never tell anyone?" Malfoy burst out.

"I didn't know; I deduced. Bellatrix and her idiot husband went to Azkaban that same year for attacking the Longbottoms, so it had to have been done before then."

"But how did you know that it was done at all?" Malfoy pressed.

"At the time, I didn't. It was only four years later that I realized what had been done to my daughter. She had been returned to the orphanage, and I went to visit her on the occasion of her eleventh birthday. But someone else was already there. Albus Dumbledore. He had gone to inform my daughter that she was a wizard, and to tell her about Hogwarts."

"But why?" Malfoy asked, sounding as confused as Harry felt. "If she was a Squib..."

"Yes...but could a Squib levitate objects and send them flying around her room?" Lucius said. "She could do magic. And yet, the Healers couldn't have been wrong. There was only one explanation."

"She put a little of herself into the child," Harry said quietly, remembering his twelve-year-old self learning why he could talk to snakes. "When Bellatrix made her a Horcrux, she accidentally gave her the ability to do magic."

"Yes, and powerful..." Lucius went on, but another coughing fit overcame him. "Time...so little time..."

"Father, I'm getting you to St. Mungo's," Malfoy insisted, but the old man waved him away.

"It's...it's too late...for that now." It was clearly getting harder and harder for Lucius to speak without running out of breath. "The girl...went to Hogwarts...graduated...but..."

"But what?" Harry demanded. He could see that Lucius would not be able to talk for much longer, and he needed all the information he could get in order to track down the girl...although it occurred to him that she would actually be older than he was.

"But...she's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?" Harry asked.

"Disappeared...over ten years ago. I could never..." This time as he coughed, flecks of blood flew from his mouth. "You...find her...find her...and do what must be done."

"You want me to kill your daughter?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Don't be a fool," Lucius growled. "If Bellatrix returns...so will he..."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. He had a pretty fair idea who "he" was...but Dumbledore had assured him that it was impossible! "What do you mean?" Lucius reached out blindly until his hand found his son's head. He grabbed Malfoy and pulled him in close, whispering something that Harry couldn't hear. Then, with a final shuddering breath, his arm dropped, and his head fell back onto the pillow. Lucius Malfoy was dead.

Draco Malfoy stared blankly at his father's corpse, his mouth slightly open, eyes vacant. On impulse, Harry went over to him and put his hand on his old rival's shoulder. Malfoy didn't seem to notice the gesture.

"What did he say?" Harry asked gently.

"I don't know," Malfoy whispered. "I couldn't hear."

"Malfoy, I know you don't want to do this right now, but..."

"Tomorrow," Malfoy said. "I'll come to the Ministry tomorrow. We'll talk then. Not now. I can't..." A single tear left a shiny trail down the side of his face. Harry lingered for a few minutes, and then silently left.

That night, three black-robed figures sat around a table in a tiny, dark room. One produced a crystal ball from inside his robes, set it on the table, and lightly tapped it with his wand. A sickly green glow began to radiate from the ball, and the smoky image of a skull-like face appeared within it.

"Which of you will give their flesh for me?" the face said in a horrible echoing voice.

"I will," said the man who had produced the crystal.

"And my father's bone is secure?"

"It has just been moved to a new location," said the man to the right of the first. "Only I know where it is."

"Then all that remains is blood," the third man said.

"I will provide that myself," said the face in the crystal. "My enemy is with me at Hogwarts. I just need to find them, and once I do, we can begin. Now that I have a body that will not decay, I have all the time in the world." Having said this, the face vanished from the crystal ball.

The crystal was similar to a two-way communication mirror; a pair of them would allow two parties to communicate over any distance. Back at Hogwarts, the other crystal of the pair had just been concealed within an inconspicuous book bag. Secure in her new host body, Bellatrix Lestrange smiled. Her message was the talk of the school, and she relished the chance to spread terror among the enemies of the Dark Lord once more. Now, all she had to do was find the one...


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**The Coming Storm**

"We should've been there!" Ron snapped angrily. Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead; it was the morning after his visit to Malfoy Manor, and they'd been stuck on this point for the past ten minutes.

"It was a potentially dangerous situation," he said with false patience. "It was better that..."

"We can handle danger!" Ron interrupted. "And besides, you didn't have to lie to me about it! No one knew where you were! If something had happened to you..." The unfinished sentence hung in the air between them.

"He's right Harry," Hermione said in a much calmer voice than her husband's. "It was irresponsible. You're the head of the Auror Office. You can't just disappear without telling anyone."

"Is this really the most important thing right now?" Harry protested.

"The investigation won't be a problem," Ron said. "But as for you..."

"There isn't going to be an investigation," Harry revealed. His two friends stared at him in bewilderment. "I've been trying to tell you all morning. Kingsley found me when I was coming back last night. It was bizarre...he looked scared out of his wits. He ordered me to drop the Horcrux investigation. Now, I don't know about you two, but I never even told him about the Horcux! He wouldn't tell me how he knew about it, but by the end he was begging me, _begging me_, to leave it alone. I couldn't say no. I've never seen him like that before."

"That doesn't make any sense," Ron said, still rather bewildered. "That doesn't sound like Kingsley at all!"

"His behaviour's been really erratic lately," Hermione mused. "He hasn't been acting like himself." Ron's eyes widened.

"You don't think...no, it couldn't be...could it?"

"God, I don't even want to think about that," Hermione groaned. "I can't believe that it's Kingsley. That's just too horrible."

"I know he wasn't acting like himself," Harry said, "but when he came to me, I still felt like it really was him. If Bellatrix was possessing him, why would he...she...be begging me? Wouldn't she...he...whatever...have just killed me right there?"

"The begging thing could all be an act," Ron offered. "Maybe she's got some bigger plan and she needs you alive. Or maybe she just doesn't want to draw attention to herself."

"There's also the possibility of the Imperius Curse," Hermione pointed out.

"Either way, we're in a very bad position," Harry brooded. "If the Minister for Magic has been compromised, then I'm not sure what we're supposed to do."

"We've got to speak to Kingsley, preferably alone," Hermione said.

"Already tried," Harry said. "His secretary wouldn't even let me near him. Apparently he's 'rather busy.'" He shook his head in frustration. "But we can't just sit around. Ron, we've got to put some kind of watch on your family, especially your mother."

"My mother? What's my mother got to do with this?"

"Your mother killed Bellatrix," Hermione reminded him. "Or destroyed her body at least. She could be in danger." All the colour drained out of Ron's face.

"Oh hell...I hadn't thought of that."

"We're all going to have to watch our backs from now on," Harry said. "Any of us could be targeted."

"More than just us," Hermione said. "Bellatrix still has a long list of enemies."

"At least Neville and Teddy are safe at Hogwarts," Harry said. At this point, Ron seemed to find his tongue again.

"I can't believe we're just going to drop the investigation."

"_We_ are going to drop the investigation," Harry corrected him. "But that doesn't mean that the investigation stops." Ron looked up at him in confusion, but then a smile spread across his face.

"Mad-Eyes. Of course! Who were you thinking of?"

"I'll send Elle Chandler to talk to Malfoy. Ron, if you can get Bill to go through Bellatrix's Gringotts vault...yes, that's where we'll start. Oh, I'll also get Smiley and Fiedler to set a watch on Kingsley."

"You're going to spy on the Minister for Magic?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

"If he really is Kingsley, he'll understand," Harry said, brushing the question aside. He didn't really want to think about the fact that he was spying on a man who was not only his superior but also a trusted friend. And while he loathed the thought, it came to his mind nonetheless: if Kingsley _was_ compromised, he would have to be removed from power at all costs. Harry shook his head; it was too soon for that kind of thinking. He resolved not to consider such things until he knew for sure that something had to be done.

At this point, the narrative takes a bit of a turn for the uninteresting I'm afraid. Harry's secret investigation quickly went nowhere; as far as could be determined, Kingsley Shacklebolt was exactly who he appeared to be, and Harry eventually had to take the tail off of him. However, his erratic behaviour and uncharacteristic weakness continued, and grew more and more noticeable as time went on. The most notable example of this was also the most frightening: when it came time to rule on the issue of Dementors, Kingsley voted to continue their use by the Ministry.

When the ruling was passed down, Ron swore loudly and had to be ejected, but he was hardly alone in his outrage. More disturbingly however, at least in my opinion, was just how alone those who were outraged seemed in comparison to those who hailed the decision. Even after the Second War, it seemed that thirteen years had been enough time for everyone to forget the danger of dabbling in the Dark Arts.

For my part, it was beyond my comprehension how an idea could be so readily embraced by my people when I was hard pressed to find a single fellow student who agreed with it. As far as we eternally-disaffected teenagers were concerned, the decision was typical of adults, who seemed to find it all too easy to ignore the suffering of others as long as they could sleep at night. But that dismissal, coupled with a flare of outrage here and there, but mainly smothered with sarcasm, was the only way we addressed the issue. We didn't think to be afraid. We couldn't have recognized the evil that was creeping back into our world.

The point of return will be late October, approximately one week before Halloween, for three notable things occurred at Hogwarts around this time. Namely, my mysterious vision will return again, and a new and disturbing message will appear on the walls of Hogwarts, but before all of this could come to pass, Professor Spanier decided to begin a rather interesting experiment.

"The Disillusionment Charm," he announced as it wrote the name on the blackboard one day. "Can anyone tell me what this spell does?" Unsurprisingly, Polina's hand was the first up, although I must point out that my hand was also quickly raised...as was Amanda's. There are some downsides to being a Ravenclaw. "Yes Polina?"

"It makes objects invisible," was her answer.

"Actually, that's a bit of a misconception," Spanier corrected her. "The actual function of the spell is to make an object blend in with its surroundings, much as a chameleon might. Now, a very powerful Disillusionment Charm can, in fact, render objects completely invisible...but only a very powerful wizard could accomplish this. I will demonstrate." Taking out his wand, he looked over his desk for a moment. "Now, what should I..." He trailed off with a smile, and tapped the desk itself with his wand. Initially, it seemed that nothing had happened at all. However, slowly but surely, the desk began to fade from view. It wasn't all that noticeable at first; it simply grew fainter and fainter until the large collection of objects sitting on top of the now-transparent desk appeared to be floating in mid-air. Spanier took a small bow in response to the applause that rang out.

"Now, as I'm sure you noticed, the spell is non-verbal. Normally, students don't start learning non-verbal spells until sixth year in Defence Against the Dark Arts. However, it has been my experience you are all extremely talented young witches and wizards. So far, you've exceeded my every expectation, and I must confess that I'm rather curious to see what you can really do.

"Because of how quickly you managed to complete the unit on the cosmetic applications of Colour-Change Charms," he continued (I winced slightly, remembering the acid green hair that Gordon had given me); "we actually have a full week before the scheduled start of the next unit. So you have a choice: we can either begin the next unit early, which will put you a week ahead of the other class, or we can attempt to learn this rather advanced charm, which may be beyond your abilities. However, if you managed to succeed, you will be considerably ahead of your fellow students next year. So, we'll put it to a vote..." He was drowned out by a chorus of eager Ravenclaws and Slytherins.

"All right then! But I must warn you; this will be unlike any magic you have performed before. Unlike most other spells, the Disillusionment Charm has no incantation, not even a nonverbal one. The spell is created entirely in the mind of the witch or wizard casting it. It requires a great deal of concentration and self-discipline." As he explained this to us, he moved behind his still-invisible desk and attempted to go through the drawers, clearly looking for something. "You will...oh, fine, fine." He tapped the invisible desk with his wand, and it slowly faded back into view. This made it considerably easier to find the drawer he was looking for, from which he took a small bag. "For full marks in this mini-unit, you will have to attain sufficient mastery of the spell to completely camouflage a Rubik's Cube. This will demonstrate your ability to use the spell on an object that is not only made up of different colours, but different components as well. However, we will begin with these." He produced a sugar cube from the bag, which he handed to Polina. "Remember: the spell is cast through concentration, so it is imperative that you stay _focused_. Envision your goal in your mind's eye, and when you see your goal before you, reach out and take it! Now, does anyone have any questions before I hand the rest of these out? Yes, Susan?"

"Um...Professor?" the pure-blooded Susan asked somewhat sheepishly. "What's a Rubik's Cube?"

It quickly became rather apparent that the Disillusionment Charm was considerably more difficult than it sounded. Half an hour had gone by, and not a single student had managed to do anything at all to their sugar cubes, myself included. My first thought had been to simply think about the cube becoming invisible while tapping it with my wand, but that had proven ineffective. Next, I had emptied my mind of anything but the word 'invisible,' and when that failed, I had filled my mind with all the things I could think of that were related to invisibility. Neither approach had yielded any results, and I was seriously considering crushing the damn thing into powder. In an attempt to calm myself down, I looked around the room to see if my classmates were faring any better than I was.

The answer was no, no they weren't. Even Polina was scowling at her totally visible cube. Beside her, Susan was prodding her own sugar cube with her wand, muttering "Invisible! Invisible!" In the back corner of the room, Carmilla seemed to have abandoned the attempt entirely, and was now sulking and glowering at nothing in particular, a choice that seemed to be echoed by Gordon, although he was still striking his wand against his cube every now and then. My gaze moved to Adam, who was...looking right back at me. He quickly averted his eyes, but he had clearly been staring at me a minute ago. I didn't think much of it at the time; perhaps he was looking for some hint as to how to do it properly. If so, I mused, he was seeking advice from the wrong wizard.

"No, no, you're approaching this all wrong," Amanda said, leaning over my shoulder. I jerked away from her, startled; I must have been so distracted that I hadn't noticed her approach. "Don't try to force the magic out. It's dying to get out anyways. Just...let it go. Relax. Will the spell to take effect, and the magic will take care of the rest."

"And how do you figure..." I began, but I trailed off into stunned silence as I caught a glimpse of Amanda...the real Amanda...out of the corner of my eye, still seated at her desk trying to work the spell. _She_ was back. "Who are you?" I whispered to...oh, whatever it was. "Are you some kind of hallucination? A ghost?"

"In time," she chuckled patronizingly. "In time. For now, focus on the task at hand. Make the cube invisible."

"Why? What's it to you?"

"Just trust me Seb." Biting back questions, I rolled my eyes and focused them back on the sugar cube, which had been sitting on my desk throughout the entire conversation. No doubt it was mocking me.

"Well, we'll see about that," I muttered.

"Relax..." not-Amanda intoned soothingly, and for whatever reason I obliged her. I took a deep breath, and tried to clear my mind of any distractions. In a room full of annoyed, muttering teenage wizards, this was much easier said than done, but I was eventually able to quiet the thoughts that were buzzing around like a swarm of wasps inside my head. "Remember, don't try to force it. Don't think. _Feel_."

I still wasn't really sure what she was talking about. But, for whatever reason, I decided to put a little faith in...well, whatever she was. She seemed to have a better understanding of this whole Disillusionment business than I did anyways. I closed my eyes, paused for a moment...I wasn't sure if I could actually feel some kind of energy building up inside me or if it was just a trick of the mind...and brought my wand down on the cube.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see when I opened my eyes. I mean, I couldn't have possibly expected it to have worked. All that Yoda-esque crap she'd been spouting...and I apologise to any wizard readers who don't know who Yoda is...just wasn't how magic worked. And yet, when I did open my eyes, the cube was gone! I felt around the desktop with my hand, just to confirm that it hadn't simply fallen onto the floor or something. But no...it was there. I picked it up and held it in the palm of my hand. Unless the cube caught the light in just the right way, it was impossible to see. The rest of the world seemed to vanish as I stared at the barely-visible cube. It wasn't possible. I hadn't done anything! How...?

"Well done Sebastian!" Professor Spanier's announcement jolted me back to reality, and I nearly dropped the cube in my surprise. "Very nicely done!" To my extreme displeasure, I was almost immediately mobbed by my classmates.

"Oh please, he's just hiding it in his pocket," Phil laughed.

"How did you do that?" Amanda asked. Behind her, the girl who looked exactly like her smiled at me in amusement, but there was no warmth in her smile.

"Um...I...I really don't know," I stammered...which was mostly true anyways. She regarded me with concern and a little confusion, but must have decided that I didn't want to talk about it for whatever reason, as she simply congratulated me and returned to her seat without asking any more questions. The same could not be said of Gordon.

"Hey, what were you picturing in your head when you did it? 'Cause I've mostly been picturing the cube fading out of sight. Just thinking 'invisible' or 'camouflage' doesn't seem to work. Did you try...?" I wasn't really paying attention to him, though. My eyes were fixed on Amanda's doppelganger, who was still smiling icily. Gordon lightly...from his point of view anyways...punched my shoulder. "Hey, Earth to Seb! What are you looking at?"

"I..." I had taken my eyes off not-Amanda for only the briefest of seconds, but when I turned back to where she had been, there was nothing. It was as if she had never been there at all.

By the end of the class, I was the only one who had managed to completely camouflage their cube, although Gordon insisted that his had gone slightly paler. However, my accomplishment would be largely forgotten by that evening, as something far stranger and more disturbing took its place in the gossip circles of Hogwarts.

The message, written in blood again, had been scrawled on the wall outside of the Muggle Studies classroom. By the time I arrived, a sprawling crowd of students had already formed around the scene of the crime like a massive cordon, and Gordon and I had to crane our necks to see the message (as I refused to let him shove the first-years out of the way).

_Oct 31 – KILL A MUDBLOOD DAY _

"Well...that's interesting," I commented, trying to ignore the shiver that was scurrying down my spine. Gordon had a more colourful assessment, but for sake of younger readers I have decided to let you use your imagination.

What the hell was this? Once was just a curiosity, but twice...and to say something like that! Whoever was leaving these messages had to be both incredibly sick and incredibly stupid. You couldn't just go around writing things like "kill a Mudblood day" on the walls of Hogwarts and expect to get away with it. That sort of thing just wasn't tolerated here.

Still, just seeing the word (and hearing it whispered excitedly by the ignorant first-years amongst themselves) made me feel uneasy, even a little bit sick. Of course, this was probably due to the fact that two of my closest friends, Gordon and Amanda, were "Mudbloods." But I forced myself to stop being so ridiculous. I mean, it wasn't like anyone was actually going to go around killing Muggle-borns on Halloween. But then, that wasn't what was really bothering me. What really bothered me was the excited whispering of the younger students as they tried out the unfamiliar word and speculated as to what it meant...and who it applied to.

"Come on," Gordon muttered, nudging me. "Let's get out of here."

The message was gone the next day, but the damage had already been done. Several of the teachers had to give their younger students "the talk" about why Mudblood was an offensive term and shouldn't be used and so on and so forth. The cynic in me was certain that telling the kids not to use the word would only make them more eager to use it as often as possible, and wouldn't you know it, the little bastard was right. The whispers were always out of earshot of the teachers, but they were omnipresent, and they grew like ivy in the halls. And while I am pleased to say that no one actually died when Halloween rolled around, I could still feel the anxiety and tension radiating from many a Muggle-born student. Gordon spent most of the day twitchy, looking over his shoulder and glaring about him at nothing in particular, and while Amanda tried to cover up her own anxiety by talking endlessly about absolutely anything but the threat looming over her head, her true colours were hard to disguise.

Halloween fell on a Friday, a rare occurrence that was eagerly anticipated by all of us; after class was over, we would have the annual (and spectacular) Halloween feast, and as the weekend followed after, we would be able to spend the next two days visiting Hogsmeade. And for those of us in Professor Spanier's fifth-year Charms class, Halloween was also the day when our mastery of the Disillusionment Charm would be tested.

When it came my turn to perform the charm on Professor Spanier's Rubik's Cube, I was perhaps a little more nervous than I needed to be. With not-Amanda's coaching, I had never failed to perform the charm effectively since the first day I'd attempted it. And speaking of not-Amanda...the mysterious spectre had appeared directly in front of me, leaning against the wall of the classroom. As with every other time she had appeared, no one but me seemed to notice her presence.

"Don't worry," she said quietly, although I could hear her as clearly as if she were standing right next to me. "You know you can do this. Just _believe_." And as much as I still doubted that "just believe" was legitimate magical theory, it had worked pretty well so far.

I stared down at the multicoloured cube on my desk, fixing it within my gaze as though it were a potentially dangerous animal, and, taking a deep breath, I emptied my mind of everything but not-Amanda's words. You know you can do this. Just believe. And then, almost believing that I could, in fact, feel the magic building within me, I brought my wand down on the cube.

As always, it took a moment for the change to become noticeable, but all the same I breathed a sigh of relief as the multicoloured box slowly began to fade from view. I willed the transformation to spread all the way from the top to the bottom of the cube; most of the charms I'd seen during this test had failed to completely conceal the cube. _Come on_, I silently begged the creeping stain of camouflage. _Keep going_. And, much to my delight, it did.

"Magnifique!" Spanier declared in a flashy French accent. "Well done Sebastian!" My accomplishment was rewarded with a chorus of applause from my classmates; up to this point, no one had managed to completely conceal the cube as I had. By the time the applause had died down, Professor Spanier had performed the counter-charm on the cube, readying it for the next student. He was saying something, but I wasn't listening. My hallucination (at least, that's what I was starting to suspect she was) was speaking, and every other noise faded into the background. Her voice was all I could hear.

"Be in Hogsmeade tomorrow," she told me. "We can be alone there. I'll come to you." When I blinked, she was gone.

By the end of the class, only Polina and Adam had managed to match my accomplishment with the Disillusionment Charm. Gordon, Amanda, and Phil had all showed a certain degree of proficiency with the spell, and indeed most of the class had managed to at least camouflage some of the cube, a fact which delighted Professor Spanier immensely.

"Excellent work, all of you! This has been a particularly enjoyable week for me, and I certainly hope you've also...oh, the end-of-unit speech is a little premature it seems," he said, eyeing the grandfather clock in the corner of the classroom. "We've got about fifteen minutes left in the class. What to do..."

"Sing something for us!" Susan insisted. Her suggestion received a loud chorus of approval from us.

"I'd love to," Spanier replied, "but Professor Johnstone borrowed my guitar this morning, and he hasn't given it back yet."

"Professor Johnstone plays guitar?" I burst out. The awesomeness of this revelation is difficult to properly express.

Aside from the predictably extravagant Halloween feast, the rest of the day was not particularly eventful. The highlight of the evening was Peeves' attempt to hide a Weasleys' Wildfire Whizz-Bang firework inside one of Hagrid's enormous jack-o-lanterns, which was narrowly thwarted by Professor Johnstone, who somehow spotted the poltergeist and managed to encase the firework in ice and vanish it only a fraction of a second before it exploded. And while everyone around me revelled, I couldn't bring myself to join the festivities. I could only think of tomorrow, and of not-Amanda. Was she just a hallucination, or was there something more to it? Did she have anything to do with the messages on the walls, or the creature I had seen in the forest on my first day? I dismissed that thought almost as soon as it entered my brain; it was ridiculous to start seeing conspiracies like that. But despite this commonsense stance, my dreams that Halloween night were haunted with images of the darkened forest and the strange creature that flew through the trees, seeking something that no wizard could find...

As much as I am reluctant to describe any location as a "charming little place"...I'm not that old yet...that is probably the most accurate way to describe the wizarding village of Hogsmeade. I had hoped to be alone for a while in order to talk to not-Amanda, for hallucination or not, she was undeniably invisible to everyone except me, and I didn't want everyone in the village to see me talking to myself. However, this hope had been largely dashed by Gordon, David, and Paul, who were currently in the process of dragging me to the Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. I could only imagine the horrors they planned to inflict on Filch with their intended purchases, but most of the imagination I could have used to explore the possibilities was currently focused on figuring out how I was going to get away from them.

In the end, I opted for the simplest approach possible.

"I'll catch up with you guys later," I announced, already turning to leave. "I have to take a _wicked_ piss. I'll be back in a bit." I then proceeded to more or less run off full-tilt in the opposite direction before I could be questioned. Once my friends were out of sight, I ducked behind the Hogsmeade branch of Ollivander's, which was unlikely to attract many customers at this time of the year. Within seconds, _she_ appeared before me.

"Hello Sebastian," she said with a cold smile. "I've been looking forward to this conversation." Unlike her, I didn't bother with pleasantries.

"Who are you? A ghost? A hallucination? Why do you look like Amanda if you're not her?"

"Am I really Amanda playing some kind of trick? Do I have anything to do with the messages on the walls? Why can't anyone else see me?" she interrupted, listing off all the questions I was about to ask. "I'm in your head Seb. I always have been, ever since the day you were born."

"What? That's impossible! I've only known Amanda for the past five years!" The smile vanished, and she sighed sharply with displeasure.

"I'm _not_ Amanda! I'm just taking her form, it makes things easier. I can be someone else if you want." To my surprise, she promptly began to swiftly transform into other girls I knew...Olivia, Susan, Hannah...whilst snapping ridiculous model-like poses each time she switched. Her transformations were not accompanied by puffs of smoke or flashes of light; she would simply be one girl at one moment, and another the next.

"No, no," I interrupted, pausing Jasmine in the middle of what I think Muggles call a bend-and-snap. "I was just getting used to Amanda." Okay, this called for a moment of reflection. Clearly this...thing...had nothing to do with Amanda, as she could apparently take whatever form she liked. Which could mean... "Hold on, who else have you been?" I racked my brains, trying to remember if I'd ever seen a doppelganger of anyone else I knew.

"Oh, don't worry your silly head about that," she chuckled, returning to her more familiar form. "I've only shown myself to you as Amanda. I didn't want to confuse you too much."

"Fine then, next question. Not to sound like a drunken playboy, but if you're inside my head, then where have you been all my life?"

"Waiting," she replied matter-of-factly. "Growing. It wasn't time before, but it's time now."

"Time for what?" I asked. What the hell was she talking about?

"You'll see," she said with a smile, as mysterious knowledgeable characters in mediocre movies always say. I rolled my eyes, knowing that I would get nothing further from her on that subject. However, that certainly didn't mean that I was going to discontinue the interrogation.

"Why do you look like Amanda?" was my next question. "Are you like a representation of my anima or something?"

"Anima?" she questioned, seemingly bewildered. "Isn't that some kind of Muggle thing where they squirt water into your..."

"Never mind," I cut her off hurriedly. "I'm just trying to figure out why I'm hallucinating Amanda...and apparently every other girl I know..." She groaned and smiled at the same time...something that I had seen Amanda do a million times.

"I'm not a hallucination Seb! I'm almost as real as you are! I just look like Amanda because you respect her. You _trust_ her. How else was I going to get you to listen to my advice?"

"You mean your advice on Disillusionment Charms?" I ask wryly.

"That's only the beginning Seb! Nonverbal magic is just the meanest example of what I can help you accomplish. Together, we'll do extraordinary things!"

"Why? Why are you helping me? Why are you _here_?" I groaned in frustration. "Just who the hell are you, and what do you want?" There was a pause after my outburst, and she looked taken aback, as if this wasn't going at all the way she'd intended it to. But how the hell could a hallucination _intend_ anything? But then, hadn't she denied being just a hallucination? Could a hallucination do that? What the hell was going on?

At last, her smile returned, and she gave an answer that wasn't really an answer at all.

"I'm here for you Seb. I'm here to help you. Very soon, the wizarding world will be threatened by a great and powerful evil, and you're going to play a vital role in saving it."

"Me?" I blurted out in surprise. "Save the world? What is this? What are you talking about?"

"Soon," she intoned. "Everything from me to the Dark Hunter in the forest will be made clear to you in time."

"Dark Hunter? That creature I saw? What is it?" She laughed, and sounded just like Amanda when she did.

"Don't worry so much Seb! Come on; go have fun with your friends. You've got a few more days before you need to start moving. Just trust me and do as I tell you, and everything will go according to plan." She reached out as though to touch me, but pulled back with a sad smile. "You have a destiny Sebastian Crane, and I'm going to make sure you get there."

Unbeknownst to me, I was not the only one at that moment having a conversation with someone who wasn't quite there. In the small Muggle town of Little Hangleton, there is a desolate and melancholy graveyard that has seen magic both great and terrible, and it is in that graveyard that Harry Potter stood at that very moment. He regarded the unremarkable grave of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, whose body he had buried there with his own hands thirteen years ago. The final resting place of Lord Voldemort was known only by Harry and his most trusted friends, who hoped to prevent vengeful wizards from desecrating the former Dark Lord's body. He had intended to bury his enemy and then be rid of him forever, but as time had gone by, he had been drawn back to Riddle's resting place by the strange connection he still felt to his old nemesis. He knew that nothing really linked him to the dead husk in the ground beneath his feet, but the feeling lingered even after all this time. In the graveyard he found peace and quiet; sometimes it was the only place he could really think. Sometimes he would even speak to Riddle, and sometimes he could have sworn that Riddle answered him.

"Kingsley _is_ compromised," Harry muttered. "The Kingsley Shacklebolt I know would never vote to continue the use of Dementors by the Ministry. He's being controlled somehow."

_Then you know what you have to do_. The whispered voice in his head could have been that of the dark little place in his head that he didn't like to visit...or it might have been something more.

"Yes, but how does one go about removing the Minister for Magic from office?" Harry mused. "I can't have him arrested just based on all this conjecture. That would be..."

_Like me?_

"Yes. Like you." There was a long silence in which nothing at all seemed to move. "The Order's been inactive for years, and it's not like I could have used them for this anyways. I can't even use my Mad-Eyes. I won't make them choose between me and the Ministry."

_You're afraid_, the voice taunted him. _You know that you must take action, but you allow your fear to stand in your way._

"What would you have me do?" he said in a voice barely above a whisper. And the answer came even more softly, like a cold breeze.

_Take his power for your own._

"No," Harry said firmly and without hesitation. "We're not there yet. And we never will be, not while I can help it."

_Don't shy away from what must be done. The rest of them...they are fools who stand in your way! Who among them can equal you? What do they know of pain? Of suffering? They would use you as a shield, a candle against the darkness while they point at your forehead and laugh! You alone know the truths of this world! Do what must be done Potter, don't shy away from what's rightfully yours! Gather your allies. Become Minister for Magic. Then no one will stand in your way, not Kingsley, not Crawley! Then you can make the wizarding world as it should be!_

"You mean like you would do?" Harry shot back, trying to crush what he was feeling back into that dark place in his head. He knew what he felt was desire, temptation. "No. I'm not you, and I won't become you. I'll go see Kingsley in person tomorrow. I won't let anyone stop me this time. I'm going to find out what's really going on here." As he prepared to Disapparate, he paused and looked back down at the grave. "You know, I've been thinking lately: the line between you and me is a thin one. And the day I forget why I did this for you is the day I cross it."

_My side of the line isn't so bad you know._ Refusing to entertain that idea for even a moment, Harry vanished.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Downfall**

The third of November brought no great sense of foreboding to me when it arrived. No half-prophetic nightmare visited to warn me of the days of darkness ahead of us, although I had recently taken to dreaming of wandering through the corridors of the darkened castle as well as the forest. Even the weather seemed cheerful: the sky was bright blue and the clouds seemed far away, the wind was gentle when it blew, and it was not unpleasantly cold. In short, it was the perfect day for the first Quidditch match of the year.

"All right everyone," Amanda began, immediately launching into a pre-game speech that she'd likely been working on for weeks. The air in the change-room was thick with both anticipation and anxiety; the match was Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, and Gryffindor had been the cause of our team's worst loss last year. Unfortunately, she was cut off by Andrew Garside, Beater extraordinaire, before she could really get into the thrust of it.

"Amanda, if you say anything even remotely similar to 'this is the one we've all been waiting for,' I swear to Merlin..."

"That's not what I was going to say," she said, fixing him with her infamous I'm-Going-To-Kill-You Smile. "But Andrew's right," she said, now speaking to the entire team. "This _is_ the one we've been waiting for. Gryffindor kicked our butts last year, and now we're finally going to give them the thrashing they deserve! We've trained for this," she said, looking each player straight in the eye for at least a moment. "We're ready for this. It's not going to be easy, but that just means that everyone needs to give their all out there." She locked her eyes on the three chasers. "Susan, Aisha, Eric: Cadger's good, but you've got to be better. She's fast, but you've got to be faster. She can't be everywhere at once. Teamwork is your greatest advantage, and remember the formations we've been practicing." The Beaters were next to be addressed. "You two know what you're doing, so make sure you keep doing it. If you play the way you've been playing during practice, you're gonna do just fine. And Polina," she said, focusing all her attention on the pixie-like girl. "You're the best darn Seeker in the whole school, and everyone knows it. We're all counting on you, so be sure to fly circles around Jasmine!"

She then turned to me.

"Seb...what the heck are you doing here? You're not on the team!"

"I know," I said, "but I just couldn't miss your famous pre-game speech. Oh, and you dropped this when you left the Great Hall after breakfast." I held out the opened letter that I had found. "It was open when I found it. I didn't read it or anything, but..." For reasons I couldn't imagine, she immediately blushed bright scarlet and snatched the letter from my hand.

"That's...it's...thank you...nothing..." she stuttered, quickly stuffing it into her blue Quidditch robes. "Thanks. Now get out of here, we've got a game to win!"

"Good luck!" I called as I departed.

"Won't need it!" she replied.

I made my way to the stands, wincing as I looked up at the sky; the perfect conditions I had seen this morning had shifted. The faraway clouds had moved to cover Hogwarts, and the bright fall day now looked as dark as winter. The winds were stronger too. I scowled; but then, our team was no band of amateurs. They'd flown in worse conditions than this.

"Did the sky do something wrong?" said Carmilla, taking the seat next to me.

"Yeah," I replied, smiling. "It changed. Conditions were perfect this morning."

"I don't mind it like this actually," she remarked. "I don't really like being out in the sun. I burn like you wouldn't believe."

"Oh, I believe it," I muttered, considering her extraordinarily fair skin. She regarded me quizzically. "Never mind," I said.

"The Gryffindors sure seem excited," she commented. Even over the noise of the rest of the crowd, they were clearly audible as they chanted some kind of rally cry. I briefly considered making one up for Ravenclaw, but I decided that it was far too early in the day for iambic pentameter. Ravenclaw pride had its drawbacks.

"They're always like that during Quidditch games," I told her. "They won the Cup last year, and they think they'll be doing it again. And it is true that they've got one of the best teams the school's ever seen...but then, we're not bad ourselves," I said, smiling at my own understatement. "We won the year before last."

"Quidditch is a pretty big deal here, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah. We even get House points for winning games. Why, isn't Quidditch big where you come from?"

"Not as much," she told me. "Like, we don't have tournaments at Durmstrang, mainly because we're buried under snow for most of the year. I don't actually know that much about it."

"No Quidditch? What did you guys do for fun?"

"Well," she said, "we did have organized duelling." Blinking in surprise, I made a mental note to suggest this to Professor McLaughlin. McGonagall would probably veto the idea, but it was still worth a shot. "So how much do you actually know?"

"Not a whole lot," she admitted sheepishly. "People fly, throw balls through hoops...that's about it."

"Actually, that's just the Chasers," I corrected her.

"Chasers?" It appeared that I had some explaining to do.

"Okay...I'm not that good at this whole 'explaining' thing, so bear with me," I warned her. "Every Quidditch team has seven players. The Chasers...oh, excellent, they're coming out onto the pitch." As I spoke, the two teams were taking up positions on the Quidditch pitch, which greatly aided my explanation. "Okay, there are three Chasers per team, and they're the ones who do all the scoring...the throwing balls through hoops. The ball they use is called the Quaffle." She opened her mouth to speak. "Don't ask. I have no idea why it's called that. Anyways, each goal is worth ten points. You know Susan; she's one of our Chasers. The other two are Aisha Madan and Eric Bryce. Gryffindor's Chasers are Kenneth Davies, who's also their team captain, Hannah Wilson...she's the short one...and Julia Sunga.

"The three goalposts...or hoops, whatever you like...are guarded by one player called the Keeper. Amanda is our Keeper; she's the best there is," I said proudly.

"Then how did you lose last year?" she asked. I waved off her question and continued with my explanation.

"Anyways, the Gryffindor Keeper is Allison Cadger. She's the one in the back over there. Now, in addition to the Quaffle, there are three other balls involved in a game of Quidditch. Two of them are Bludgers. You'll know the Bludgers when you see them; they're basically psychotic flying cannonballs that zip around and try to knock players off their brooms. Each team has two Beaters...they're the ones with the little bats...and their job is to keep the Bludgers away from the other players on their team. They also hit them towards players on the other team. Our Beaters are Andrew Garside and Shay Mochan, and theirs are Brock Smith and Taylor Lennon, who you know from Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Taylor...I thought his name was Earl," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Again, don't ask," I chuckled. "The final ball is the Golden Snitch. It's basically a golf ball with wings...oh, sorry; you don't know what a golf ball is... The seventh player on a Quidditch team is the Seeker. Ours is Polina, and theirs is Jasmine Kaur, who you also know from Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Seeker's job is to catch the Snitch."

"That's all?"

"Well, it's not as easy as it sounds," I said quickly. "It's wicked fast, and in the middle of a game it's damn near impossible to see. The game ends when the Snitch is caught, and whichever Seeker catches the Snitch earns a hundred and fifty points for their team."

"So if you catch the Snitch, you win?" she asked.

"Usually," I replied, "but not always. I remember this one World Cup game fifteen years ago, Ireland versus Bulgaria. The Bulgarian Seeker caught the Snitch, but Ireland won."

"What? Then Ireland had what, a hundred and sixty points?"

"Don't ask me," I chuckled. "I think I was about a month old at the time." Any further questions she might have had were cut off by the magically magnified voice of Phillip Keates as it resonated across the pitch. It occurred to me that the idiot that had made him a prefect was probably the same idiot who had made him the Quidditch commentator last year.

"Good morning Hogwarts! Yes, it's that time of year again: welcome to the first match of our annual Quidditch inter-house tournament!" A wave of cheers rose from the crowd, and my voice was among them. "For those who do not remember, I am Phillip Keates, and I will be your commentator for this year's games, which is odd considering I seem to be the only one in the entire wizarding world who finds the game to be rather overrated. It's a shame this morning's lovely weather didn't last, but we've played in worse conditions." I may have been imagining it, but I could've sworn that the entire Gryffindor team flinched in unison...no doubt thinking of their game against Slytherin last year, which had taken place during a hailstorm. "Today's match is Gryffindor against Ravenclaw," Phil continued, "which means that we'll finally get to see which is greater: Ravenclaw brains or Gryffindor testosterone." His quip was received quite coldly by the Gryffindors in the crowd. "Oh come on, what did you expect? _Un_biased commentary?

"You'll also be pleased to know," he went on, "that I am under strict orders from Professor McGonagall _not_ to spend the entire match commenting on Ravenclaw Keeper Amanda Watson's many attractive attributes, such as her incredibly oily hair, which she washes with goat's milk and a hint of honey." Carmilla stared at me in bewilderment as I clutched my forehead.

"Not this again," I groaned.

"Little-known fact about Miss Watson," Phil continued, seemingly oblivious to McGonagall's withering glare. "I was actually the one who told her to do that back in first year, except I recommended bat's milk instead of goat's milk. There's a reason she smelled like a rotting corpse for three weeks that year folks! What can I say though, Potions never was my forte."

"Is that true?" Carmilla asked me, sounding completely fascinated for a change.

"Which part?" But we never got a chance to continue the conversation.

"Amanda Watson ladies and gentlemen, the only player on the pitch who thinks that 'gullible' isn't in the dictionary! Oh...and I see that Professor McGonagall is about to murder me, so let's get on with the game then! Oh, and speaking of which: all of you have just lost The Game!" A chorus of groans and boos emanated from the crowd...and yes, again, my voice was among them. It took a moment for me to realize that Carmilla was tugging on my sleeve.

"But the game hasn't started yet!" she said in bewilderment.

"Again," I groaned, "don't ask." I noticed that Professor Chronus, who was refereeing the match, had joined the players on the pitch carrying a large wooden crate that I knew contained the four balls under one arm and her own broom under the other.

"Mount your brooms!" she instructed, pointing her wand at the crate and unlocking it with a flick of her wrist. The two Bludgers and the Snitch immediately shot out of the crate when she did so, but the Quaffle remained sitting like a perfectly normal ball should until Chronus picked it up and threw it into the air, sounding her whistle as she did. At that instant, all fourteen players shot into the air.

"And they're off!" Phil began, doing an admirable job of sounding considerably more interested than he probably was. "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Kenneth Davies, the most hair-conscious captain the Gryffindor team has ever had." It was clear that Phil was, as was normal for him, going to pepper his commentary with as many humorous jabs at the various players as possible. "Perhaps he could give Miss Watson...sorry Professor, I know, I know. Anyways, Davies passes to Wilson. Point of interest: Davies and Wilson's one-year anniversary is coming up at the end of the month, so be sure to harass them about it constantly! Gift baskets are very thoughtful! But, back to the game...Davies and Wilson passing back and forth while Bryce tries to get between them, Wilson passes to Sunga, Sunga passes to Davies, Davies takes the shot...Amanda's got it! A very nice save by Watson, who passes it on to Madan. And now Madan's taking the Quaffle up the pitch, flanked by Mochan...is that the Snitch?"

Everyone in the stands (myself included) immediately began craning their necks and squinting, trying to catch a glimpse of the tiny gold ball. Jasmine must have seen it, because she immediately shot towards her own goalposts. Polina was also flying at breakneck speeds, but she was on the other side of the pitch, there was no way she could make it in time...

Suddenly, a roar of disapproval rose from the Gryffindors. At the very last second, Andrew, who at least had kept his wits about him, had smacked a Bludger towards Jasmine, who had to dive rapidly to dodge it. She was fine, but the Snitch had vanished.

"And a near-certain Gryffindor victory is narrowly averted by Ravenclaw Beater Andrew Garside! Oh take a Calming Draught Gryffindors, that was perfectly legal!"

It soon became clear that this game was going to be largely a battle of the Keepers. Amanda and Cadger seemed so determined to avoid letting even a single shot get past them that it was fifteen minutes into the game before Aisha managed to get past Cadger to score Ravenclaw's first goal.

"Ten-nothing to Ravenclaw! Davies has the Quaffle now, passes to Sunga who passes...pass intercepted by Rana...Ragna...oh bloody hell, I'm _Indian_ and I can't figure out her name! Pass intercepted by Susan, who's taking it up the pitch now...passes to Bryce, Bryce passes to Ma...wait, no, Davies has the Quaffle, he's going straight for the goal...narrowly dodges a Bludger from Mochan, I think Bludgers are attracted to his hair...fine, fine, no more hair jokes Profes-he scores! The game is tied at ten! See what happens when you distract me Professor? I could've missed that!"

Before long, Gryffindor had scored twice more, but this didn't worry me; all we needed to do was catch the Snitch. I kept my eyes on Polina as she soared over the pitch, straining my eyes just as she was undoubtedly straining hers, looking for that telltale flash of gold.

But it was Jasmine, rather than Polina, who suddenly launched into a steep dive.

"She's seen something!" Phil announced for the benefit of the crowd. "Gryffindor Seeker Kaur has seen the Snitch! Either that or her hamster's escaped and has wandered onto the pitch, but I'm pretty sure she's seen the Snitch!" Taking notice, Polina shot towards Jasmine like a bullet. Within seconds, they were skimming the ground side by side. "This game could be over any second now!" Even the players had stopped, and were hanging in midair to watch the two Seekers race. Well...most of them anyways. Susan grabbed the Quaffle and managed to score while Cadger wasn't looking, causing Brock and Tyler to chase her across the pitch with streams of butterflies shooting out of their wands, but I think Carmilla and I were the only ones who saw all of this. Everyone else, soon joined by us, was completely transfixed by the Seekers, although I was aware enough to notice that Professor Longbottom, head of Gryffindor House, had nearly fallen out of the stands trying to get a better look.

"Polina's closer," Carmilla whispered excitedly. "She's going to make it!" I could hear Phil's amplified voice echoing her sentiments, but I couldn't see how they knew that; as far as I could tell, they were still neck-and-neck. The Snitch was still several feet in front of them, but they were gaining on it inch by inch...

Ultimately, Kenneth proved to be the deciding factor. I'm not certain how he managed to communicate his intentions to Jasmine, but they managed to execute the manoeuvre in perfect tandem. Just when the Snitch seemed to be in Polina's reach, Jasmine abruptly swung upwards, taking her out of Kenneth's path as he dived like a falcon right in front of Polina, who had to brake sharply in order to avoid a collision. The dive caused Kenneth to crash hard into the ground, but the move was successful: with Polina out of the way, Jasmine was able to swoop down and easily grab the Snitch out of the air.

The Gryffindors roared ecstatically while Phil did his best to shout over the crowd.

"Gryffindor wins! Gryffindor wins, one hundred and seventy to twenty!" I could hear some of the other Ravenclaws calling foul, but I knew that the victory had been fair, if galling.

"Come on," I muttered to Carmilla, hopefully sounding less bitter than I felt. "Let's get back to the common room."

While all of this was going on, Harry was at last preparing to execute Operation See Kingsley...okay, _he_ wasn't calling it that, but I like it when operations have "operation" in the title. His earlier vow to speak to Kingsley in person the next day had been made without the realization that it was, in fact, Saturday. The Ministry was naturally not open on Sundays, and Harry was certain that the Minister for Magic would have heavy security measures in place to protect his home. His office was his only weak point, as Harry's position in the Ministry granted him knowledge of all the protective enchantments that guarded it. Having said that, his plan was still completely untested, as it was difficult to book the Minister's office for practice runs of infiltrating the Minister's office. The success of his plan depended on him having an unusual amount of luck, as he had never used the particular spell he had in mind in quite this way, but at least he knew that he was fully capable of Apparating while wearing his Invisibility Cloak.

He was wearing his Invisibility Cloak right at that moment as he lurked outside the Minister's office. There were, of course, numerous people in the outer office in which he was standing, but he was able to avoid most of them by staying pressed against the wall. Once he was convinced that no one in the office was going anywhere, in or out, he began pointing his wand at each of the people in turn, muttering as quietly as possible as he did so.

"_Muffliato. Muffliato._" Then, praying that he hadn't forgotten any of them, he Disapparated.

With a crack, he reappeared inside Kingsley's office, counting on the spells he had just cast and the heavy oak door to muffle the whip-crack sound that accompanied Apparition. However, there was no way that anyone could miss hearing the blaring siren that bleated from nowhere; Rufus Scrimgeour had personally installed these defences for Cornelius Fudge, and Harry had memorised them all. First, a spell to detect Apparition, and a siren to announce it, which would summon three Aurors who would immediately Apparate into the office. Before they arrived, however, four illusory doppelgangers of the Minister appeared at various points within the room, each enclosed within a powerful Shield Charm, just as the Minister would be. Harry barely had time to register the locations of the five Kingsleys before, with another whip-crack, the three Aurors appeared, pointing their wands every which way as they searched for the intruder.

"What happened Minister?" one of them said to the Kingsley seated behind the desk on the far side of the room. With a jolt, Harry recognized Elle Chandler. He knew that it was possible that one of his Mad-Eyes would be on call, but he knew that he couldn't rely on her if he was discovered. He had told no one of his plan, not even Ron or Hermione. There was no sense in anyone else risking being caught Apparating invisibly into the Minister's office, and the cloak was far too small for all of them in any case.

"I'm over here," said the Kingsley closest to a large ornate mirror fixed to the wall. "And I don't know what happened; the alarm just went off all of a sudden." Harry's eyes widened in shock. What the hell was this? There was no way Kingsley could have missed the sound of his Apparition. Was he _protecting_ him? Perhaps he wasn't under the Imperius Curse after all!

"A misfire?" one of the Aurors said sceptically. "I've never heard of that happening. These defences are supposed to be foolproof."

"No defence is foolproof," Kingsley told him. "You'd better file a report. I'll have Mr. Potter come up here and check the defensive enchantments."

"Yes Sir," Chandler said, and the three Aurors vanished, along with the doppelgangers and the Shield Charms. Harry was about to throw off the cloak and reveal himself, but before he could do so, he saw Kingsley shake his head. He didn't know how Kingsley could have possibly known who the invisible intruder was, but he did know about the cloak after all.

Kingsley paced around his office casually, but Harry could see that he was slowly easing his wand out of his robe pocket. Suddenly, with a swift flick of his wrist, he conjured a solid black shroud that attached itself to the wall, completely obscuring the mirror.

_Is someone using a two-way mirror to spy on him?_ Harry wondered. Assuming that they were now safe, he almost removed the cloak again, but Kingsley very clearly shook his head. _How long am I supposed to stand here invisible? What is he waiting for?_

Kingsley then walked over to the door of his office, making sure to tread very slowly, although Harry had no idea why. Suddenly, he knocked on the door, paused for a moment, then pulled the door open, and began to speak rather loudly.

"Ah, Mr. Potter! What a coincidence, I was just about to send for you!" He then walked back over to his desk and nodded. Harry took this as his cue to take off the cloak. Kingsley did not seem at all surprised to see him. "We've just been experiencing some difficulties with the anti-intruder defences." As he spoke, he levitated a piece of parchment from his desk so that Harry could see it, and, gesturing with his wand, caused words in black ink to appear upon it.

_They are listening._

"What seems to be the problem?" Harry asked, suddenly apprehensive, but determined not to slip up and expose Kingsley's ruse. _Come on,_ he thought. _ Take the hint. Tell me. _

"You didn't hear the alarm?" As Kingsley spoke, he was writing on the parchment with his wand. "The defences just activated on their own!"

_They have my wife and son._

"I see," Harry said, feeling as though a block of ice had fallen into his stomach. What the hell was going on here? Who would dare hold the Minister for Magic's family hostage? _They're spying on him through the mirror..._ With a horrible sinking feeling, Harry realized just how much trouble they were in. Putting his own life at risk was one thing, but Kingsley's family... _My God, his son isn't even ten years old! Who could have done this? _But really, there was only one possible answer.

The silence dragged on for too long. Anyone who was listening _had_ to know that something wasn't right. Harry knew he had to say something.

"I can inspect the enchantments right now if you want," he said, hoping desperately that Kingsley would understand what he was trying to tell him. "You'll have to _relocate_ for the time being though. You can use _my_ office if you like. It should be...safe." He wondered if whoever was spying on them could hear his heart pounding. Had Kingsley understood that he was offering to help him disappear? Kingsley had to understand that he couldn't remain here. The last thing anyone needed was a hostage as Minister.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Kingsley replied casually, but Harry could see the pleading look in his eyes. "There isn't any indication that there's a serious problem. Besides, _I need to remain here_ today. I have a great deal of work to do."

_Damn it Kingsley!_ Harry cursed silently. He _had_ to understand that he couldn't remain Minister for Magic in this situation! But Kingsley was writing on the parchment again.

_Can't leave. They'll know. Kill. _

Harry's eyes widened in horror. There was no way in Hell that he was going to risk the lives of Kingsley's family, but he couldn't possibly leave Kingsley in charge of magical Britain, not when he'd been so thoroughly compromised. And suddenly, it occurred to him that there was really only one option left. In order to keep Kingsley's family safe, he would have to be removed from his post unwillingly. That way, Kingsley could disappear without rendering Bellatrix's hostages useless. Harry could only hope that Kingsley would understand why this had to be done.

"Kingsley," Harry said quietly, "I'm really, really sorry about this. _Stupefy!_" Kingsley flew backwards onto his desk, arms flailing wildly as he fell. With its caster unconscious, the magical veil covering the mirror vanished, and Harry could see himself reflected in it. _Well, it's not like they didn't know I was here._ "_Reducto!_" The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces of sparkling crystal. With a certain degree of difficulty, he dragged Kingsley to his feet and wrapped his arms around the limp Minister, trying to transport them both to Number 12 Grimmauld Place; the ancient enchantments protecting Harry's home probably made the place even safer than the Minister's office. However, absolutely nothing happened.

"Damn it!" Harry cursed aloud. There was no reason he shouldn't be able to Apparate out of the office! Had his Stunning Spell triggered protective enchantments that even he did not know about? And if so, who was responsible for concealing that fact from the Head of the Auror Office? In any case, Harry wasn't about to give up so easily. "Kreacher!"

With a whip-crack, Harry's ancient but fanatically loyal House Elf appeared.

"Master Potter will kindly not keep Kreacher long," the House Elf said with only the slightest hint of irritation. "Kreacher is certain that Master Potter's dinner is about to boil over."

"We'll risk it," Harry said with only the slightest hint of a grin. "Can you get Kingsley and I back to Grimmauld Place? There's some kind of enchantment, I'm trapped here."

"One at a time, Kreacher thinks," the elf replied.

"Good," Harry said. At last something was going right. "Take Kingsley first. We need to hide him at Grimmauld Place, no one will be able to find him there. He's Stunned, so put him in my room, make him comfortable. Then come back for me."

"Understood, Master Potter," Kreacher replied, taking Kingsley's limp body from Harry with some difficulty due to his diminutive height. Muttering something about weight loss, Kreacher vanished, taking Kingsley with him. Unfortunately, just as they Disapparated, the office door swung open. Harry spun around, pointing his wand at the intruder, nearly firing off a reflexive Stunning Spell. He barely managed to stop himself when he recognized who he was pointing his wand at. It was Arcturus Crawley.

"Potter!" Crawley's wand was also raised. "What... Potter, what is going on here?"

"I don't have time to explain Crawley," Harry said quickly; Kreacher would be returning at any moment. "You're Senior Undersecretary. Minister Shacklebolt has been temporarily removed from office for security reasons. That makes you Minister for Magic now." Crawley opened his mouth to interrupt, but Harry gave him no chance to. "Just listen Crawley! For once just listen to me! We have to reopen the Lestrange investigation. Kingsley's wife and son are being held hostage by her or her agents. We need to come up with some excuse, say Kingsley's ill or something. We can't let Bellatrix know that we're onto her. She may have agents within the Minis –" His last sentence was cut off as Kreacher re-appeared and instantly transported him home.

Blissfully unaware of what was transpiring, myself and a large number of my fellow Ravenclaws were sitting, standing, or otherwise lounging around outside the common room. None of us could enter until the knocker's riddle was solved, and this one was proving to be a bit of a headache. The riddle in question was as follows: I am as large as Hogwarts, but lighter than air. One hundred wizards and their Hippogriffs could not move me. What am I?

"Do you think it has something to do with the Hippogriffs themselves?" Carmilla asked me. The two of us were pooling our mental resources with Polina and Andrew in an attempt to crack the riddle. We would have asked Amanda or Phil for help, but they were off in a corner of their own yelling loudly at one another, which really wasn't doing much for our concentration.

"Well you _did_ smell like a rotting corpse!"

"Because _you_ put goat's milk..."

"For the last time, it wasn't me! _I_ would've used _bat's_ milk, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Should I go over there and tell them to shut up already?" Carmilla growled. I shook my head.

"They're just blowing off steam. They're both upset that we lost to Gryffindor. This is how they deal with it."

"Well they can deal a little quieter," Carmilla grumbled, unsatisfied. Suddenly, pain shot through my head like a hot poker had been jabbed into my skull. I gasped, clutching my head. "Hey, hey!" Carmilla grabbed my arm...which was not altogether pleasant, as her grip was rather strong, and her hands were freezing. "Seb, can you hear me? What's wrong?"

"I don't know," I said. The pain had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "I just...something happened."

"Well I can see that!"

"No, no," I said, trying to clarify. "Something...something else, somewhere...something good."

"Something good?" she asked, completely bewildered.

"Yeah," I said, just as bemused as she was. "I feel like something really good just happened. Oh!" I cried suddenly, causing Carmilla to jump in alarm. "Sorry, sorry. The answer is the castle's shadow. Think about it."

I didn't know then what had just happened to me. I didn't realize the significance of what I'd just felt, and I didn't know what had suddenly made me so happy. I couldn't have known. I couldn't have known that, right at this moment, Kingsley was waking up at Number 12 Grimmauld Place with Harry Potter standing over him, a look of concern and anxiety etched into his features as if it were permanent.

"Harry...no..." Kingsley groaned deliriously.

"Kingsley, it's all right," Harry said reassuringly. "It's all right. You're safe, you're at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. No one will find you here."

"No...Harry..."

"Kingsley, I need to know what's going on. How much of the Ministry has been compromised? How many people does Bellatrix have?"

"They're everywhere," Kingsley said, suddenly much more alert. "They have infiltrated all levels of the Ministry. But Harry, I need to get back. I have to get back to the Ministry."

"You're not safe there," Harry told him. "And no one is safe if the Minister for Magic is the hostage of Bellatrix Lestrange. Crawley can handle the Ministry for the time being. He's an ass, but he should be up to the task." At this, Kingsley groaned aloud in frustration.

"My God Harry, I've been trying to tell you! Crawley is _one of them_!"


End file.
